Dancing Lights and Singing Shadows
by Rdk3
Summary: She opened her eyes after death, to gaze upon a distant land. Had she fallen upon a dream or had the dream now ended? Albion will never be the same, neither what it was supposed to be.
1. PROLOGUE

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

"What a joy it is to see you Arthur." She said as she watched Emrys' body laying still on the ground. Walking the few steps towards her goal, she watched the feeble struggles of the wounded king with unconcealed eagerness. "Look at you, not so tall and mighty now."

He said nothing in return, meeting her gaze with blue vacant eyes, growing oh so faint.

"You may have won the battle, but you lost the war. You're going to die by Mordred's hand." It was only fair. He took away another piece of her heart, one more to join the emptiness, it was still far from enough though, it was far from just. "Don't worry dear brother, I won't let you die alone. I'll stay and watch over you, till the wolves gorge in your carcass and bathe in your blood."

"No, the time for all this bloodshed is over." Startled, she spun around following the voice, to find Emrys again on his feet. His hands gripping Arthur's blade pathetically and she wondered why the almighty sorcerer would go for a sword. He could barely hold it right as he spoke. "I blame myself for what you've become..."

"Merlin"

"...But this has to end."

_You blame yourself?_ She wanted laugh, she wanted to rage against those but instead she hesitated. It didn't even register to her that her brother had tried to speak. She was wearily watching Emrys' approach, her heart drumming against her rib cage. His eyes, there was something familiar and yet menacing there, but she wouldn't allow herself to be afraid. "I'm a high priestess, no mortal blade can kill me."

_...Here, have some water._

Then the hard steel pierced her skin, and she felt the pain burst through her body, turning her breathing into agony.

_...He will be your destiny and your doom._

"This is no mortal blade. Like yours, it was forged in a dragon's breath." Emrys said, his eyes blue, blue like lightning, the blue of an unforgiving ocean. _No! No!_ She wanted to scream, but each gasp for air seemed to bring her closer to the night, her vision growing dark as his voice carried on. "Goodbye Morgana."

Who did he think he was to say that to her, him the betrayer, the secret keeper, the monster who dared cast blame and take it away?

"You've brought peace at last." Her brother mumbled and after so long the wish to cry hit her with full force.

_Peace? PEACE?_ She had wanted peace! Now they were saying that her death brought peace!

_No…_ She cried out, even as her magic deserted her. _No_, she sobbed in her mind, as her conscience drifted away.

Barely aware that she was alone, overcome by the darkness at the doors of death, Morgana heard the gentle flap of wings and next she knew, soft, warm sheets greeted her back to the world, gasping for life as she laid there in a shivering sweaty mess. With her heart pounding against her chest, Morgana blinked at the canopy, taking the furs closer to her body as if they could protect her from the pain of countless wounds, and yet they did nothing against the gash she felt tearing her heart apart in a thousand pieces.

Tasting salt on her lips, she brought a shivering hand up to clear the hair from her eyes, the mundane sensation hitting her with a new realization.

_I'm alive._

The thought was oddly devoid of any comfort. Instinctively she covered her guts, but there was no wound there, no sword of dragon breath stabbing her, nothing… Instead a whole life vanished from her sight to show her what could be a dream and yet she knew to be real. An old room, that belonged to someone else, warmer than anything in her recent memory. Close to the bed, the sight of a sleeping blonde woman invited tears to her eyes.

Shooting away from the furs, Morgana made an effort to leave her bed, her bare feet feeling the assurance from the cold stone.

_I'm alive… Then what..._

The moments before opening her eyes returned ferociously to the front of her mind, burning a desire to scream and trash as the horror met her halfway. Her feet staggered as the first sob racked through her body. _Traitors…_ she thought vengefully, the word felt as sharp and menacing as Excalibur's blade…_ traitors, traitors, traitors all of them..._

"Morgana?"

The name should mean something to her, but instead it only brought a bitter laugh from the depths of her being, something old and unused in between sobs.

"Morgana, thank the Goddess you're all right." Strong arms took hold of her shaking form, and Morgana allowed the embrace to continue. It felt very real. Her sister. Alive. Was it a vision then? She had been close to seeing her visions as a gift once, and her perhaps this was finally her answer. She saw her failure and her end… The end of everything, the deaths of so many and now she was in her room, under the soft glow of moonlight with knowledge beyond her wildest dreams. Yet, she could only feel the pain, crushing, tearing, pulling her down, until she was sitting in the dark by the foot of her bed. Morgause's voice seeming muffled and distant.

_I should feel triumphant._ She thought._ I should be happy, I can change all that, kill Merlin now, and Arthur, Gwen, and Uther, take the throne and rule Camelot for all eternity. I can do it._ But her mind brought her only Merlin's tearful eyes and the horror of the poison taking root, her brother's anguish as she died, Gwen's noble defiance… The blood, the blood, so much blood… The Dark Tower, looming over dead lands, Morgause's last words, Aithusa's screams and the Sarrum's laughter…

Usually her visions would happen and she would feel the backlash, but still know in her gut that it was a vision. This felt different. The years, the tears, the pains, it was all there, as if she had merely reverted back to a far away past.

_It can't be a vision then, not exactly._

_And why does it matter?_

Slowly, unflinching before the cold, Morgana rose from her place on the ground, walking towards the window. Her sister was calling her name again, but she dared not disturb this sweet dream. Her shift moved around her body, a body free from the scars she felt in her soul. The Moon was high and the stars were countless, and Camelot unfurled before her like a heartfelt wish.

_Maybe my death was real and this is the dream._

* * *

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	2. A LONG TIME AGO

**A LONG TIME AGO  
**

* * *

"Morgana, sister, please talk to me."

Morgause tried once more as the green-eyed woman stood smiling by the window, seeming almost like a ghost. Her pale skin was bathed in the light, glowing in some sort of spectral spectacle, while her hair was disheveled by the wind, seeming like tendrils of pure dark coal eager for a spark. For a long while she thought she remained unheard, but then the ghost, a simple tilt of her head.

"Yes?"

"Are you all right?" The question seemed to make her grin even wider, her eyes growing paler and vacant somehow, the tear tracks shimmering down her cheekbones. Immediately Morgause felt her worries worming their way into her heart. She had known her sister might take blows to her mind when she turned away from everything she knew to help her take down Uther's reign, but she had hoped that the crown and power could, somehow, soften such blows. "Is this about the peasants? You know you did the right thing, the knights would not bend the knee."

"Peasants?" Morgana almost whispered the question.

"The ones you ordered shot, remember?" Her sister's face remained blank, not a single sign of recognition filling her gaze. "Is this about something else? The servant? Your brother? I assure you he won't evade us much longer."

Her assurance again seemed to have fallen on deaf ears. Morgana barely looked at her face, instead surveying the room until locking her gaze on something. When her sister moved, it was towards her vanity, where she laid her hands atop the jeweled crown of Camelot, her fingers brushing softly over the gold, where old runes and symbols blushed under the fire. "Is this some sort of torment?"

"What?" Morgana didn't answer, but her hand moved as if to protect her belly, a shiver going through her body that wasn't from the cold.

"This, right here, you, Camelot, it must be some sort of torment, a trap from Emrys meant to drive me mad." Her sister kept saying in a voice that was close to a whimper and barely touched the raging of a beast. Approaching her slowly, Morgause dared to touch her shoulder, feeling her sister tensing under her hand.

"Morgana, what are you talking about? We were both speaking earlier about how we would go on executing the knights, we would use the gallows for that, then you suddenly fainted." Watching her sister nodding her head and sensing that she was actually getting through to her, Morgause searched her mind for the right words. "You were burning and I was deeply worried, yet now you feel so cold to the touch."

Morgana's eyes suddenly snapped shut, and Morgause saw a couple of tears escaping her eyes as she shook her head, that smile was still there, but now it was mocking, even angry. "This… No… This is..."

"Did you have a vision?" Morgause run her hands through her sister's hair, checking her wrist to see that the bracelet was still there, its magic as strong as ever. Morgana opened her mouth and closed it again, her chest heaving with suffering breaths. Holding her against her chest, Morgause started to whisper soothing words, words she knew were meant to be comforting, even if she lost faith in them long ago.

Morgana was still crying when the bells suddenly began to sing all over Camelot. Tensing, she let go of her sister right away, looking out of the window as if she could find her enemies' shadows climbing the ramparts. "It must be Arthur." She turned to Morgana who still seemed out of herself. "Sister, please stay here and be safe, I'll take care of this."

And without a second thought, Morgause marched out of the door, seeing that her men were already moving, the black snake of Essetir blazing on their doublets. She gave her orders quickly. To bar the gates, to look out for intruders, to guard the Cup. At her last order, she made her way there herself, strutting through the long hallways while feeling for her magic, gripping the tendrils of power from the world around her until they were pulsing, waiting for a spell to set it free.

Soon enough Arthur would be dead and the last threat to her sister's rule would die as well. Soon. If this night was meant to be something it would signal their triumph and the return of magic to the land. No more would her people live in fear under a foolish king's boot. Morgana would show all of them. She could see it now, her sister on throne, ruling wisely, enacting rightful punishment against those who would have them dead. Yes. That she seemed odd now didn't matter, her sister would surely feel better once her reign was secured. She, like Morgause, would move on from feeling sorry about her choices, for change never came without blood.

She was so distracted by her thoughts that when she finally came to the doors to find them wide open, her first reaction was to panic. Pulling at those troublesome skirts, she raced inside, coming in just in time to see a knight and the servant killing the last of the guards. Even though he was undead and protected by the magic of the Cup, Morgause saw him collapsing under the touch a blade. There was no time to think about it though, because the servant was running towards the Cup, his intent clear and Morgause couldn't let that happen. Pulling at her power, she threw a stunning spell his way, watching him fall to the ground like a rag doll.

_Yes._ Victory felt sweet on her tongue. She gazed upon the Cup, making sure it was indeed still there before smiling her way over. It was a sight to be enjoyed. The armored man was clearly injured and wouldn't be much of a threat, and meanwhile, the treacherous little snake who tried to kill her sister was now under her mercy. She would have fun ending him. "I have a feeling I won't be seeing you again."

"No, you won't."

She felt the force of a spell throwing her away from the lad. She hit the floor hard, pain flaring from her side, but at the same time she already moving to get up, desperately gathering her power around her at the sight of the Physician. She was a High Priestess of the Old Religion, she wouldn't allow an old man to best her, not the snake that lied to Morgana all those years, who kept his position while so many others burned, but just as she was about to summon fire and wind to destroy him for good, she felt her body being lifted once more.

All at once it was like receiving a punch from a gigantic fist, the power so tremendous she could barely feel any possibility of defense. Her vision blurred, her stomach sunk and she failed to understand what was happening until a flare of golden light screamed, deafening her ears.

Numb, she could stare at the light, the shape of the Goddess itself seeming to reach for her hand, before everything got dark.

* * *

Morgause groaned, feeling pain pulsing from every part of her. Her muscles ached, high and low and slowly she dared to open her eyes to find a blue sky and tree branches moving past her sight. She raised her head, feeling movement under her, the thumping of hooves lulling her almost back to sleep, while she watched a hunched shape in front of her. When pale green eyes met her over the cloaked shoulders, she felt a sigh of relief leaving her lips, her voice hoarse and dry when she used it.

"Sister..."

"Are you all right?" There was something strange about Morgana's voice that she couldn't identify, she nodded anyway. "There is water by your side."

Glancing down, she found that indeed there was a canteen there. She drunk the water greedily, her thirsty barely registering as she studied the hidden faces of the Blood Guard flanking their carriage, easy to recognize even without the Rowan Tree on their clothing. "What happened?"

"We lost" Morgana answered. "I'm sorry."

"There is nothing to be sorry for, sister, who could've known that the old man would actually have any power in those rusted bones." Morgause took another sip of water and spit over the carriage's side, feeling her joints aching everywhere. "There will be a next time."

Her sister simply lowered her head down and Morgause chose to finally take a better look at her surroundings. They were traveling in road of dirty, surrounded by thick woods where autumn leaves begun to rot on the branches. The warrior priests were almost dead atop their horses and there were only ten of them, barely half of their original number.

"What is our situation?"

"The Knights are pursuing us even now. The Blood Guard is keeping them away as best as they can, but sleep is a luxury until we reach safety."

"You're tired." Morgause pointed out watching the way her sister blinked, her shoulders shaking a little. "How long?"

"Sister..."

"How long?"

"Three days"

"You've been three days without sleep?" Morgause asked furiously. She sat up and slowly moved to her knees, groaning at the snap of her joints. "Are you mad?"

"The Guard has been moving as long as I am, besides, this isn't my first time."

Morgause frowned in confusion, wondering what her sister meant by that. "The guard was trained for that sort of thing."

"I have my magic."

"Which has its limits, now give me the reins and go rest" Morgause said, groggily jumping to the seat and having to snatch the leather from her sister's stiff hands. Morgana seemed about to protest, but she lifted a finger. "Don't argue, I feel fine, now just tell me where we're going."

She didn't really expect an answer as her sister nodded, slowly limping to the back of the carriage. "To the north and east, to castle De Bois"

"De Bois? Isn't that..."

"Yes, just wake me up when we get there."

Morgana spoke and trailed off, shaking before finally lying down. In the time of a few heartbeats she was asleep and Morgause moved on. She would need more answers soon, but for now, Morgana's safety mattered more.

* * *

####################


	3. BLUNTED BLADE

**BLUNTED BLADE  
**

* * *

Breakfast was already atop of her table when she woke up, morning light and cold winds greeting her movements as she dressed for the day. The white warm gown was the same she had been using when she fled Camelot, although they felt too much like the clothes of a stranger as she pulled the thing over the soft silk shift. Sitting down, she picked at the food. After the first hesitant bite, her hunger drove her to end the bacon in instants, the grease running down her chin as she savored the strong flavor. The tankard had lemon water and she drunk a pinch before going for the eggs, biting the boiled white to get to the still soft yolk.

It might have been the fact she rode for three days straight with barely any sleep or food, or maybe it was the fact she could feel every hurt from the next years flaring under her skin, but Morgana couldn't remember the last time she had appreciated a meal.

After swallowing everything with her fresh water, she allowed herself to think. This day, that day, Emrys' poisoning felt so distant from her, it was truly strange to think it happened only a year ago even if the marks of the attempt lingered. Vaguely she had to wonder what her old friends were up to now. Arthur would surely be trying to heal the scars of his rotten kingdom while looking after his broken father, Gwen, sweet Gwen, would be hovering over his shoulder and making sure he eat his dinner.

_ Queen Guinevere. _

The thought made her want to laugh and then her laughter died away, her hand hovering over her belly yet again. She was still uncertain about what she had lived through, but one thing was real, whatever had happened, she was back, years back, with so much knowledge she could crush Camelot at a moments notice, and wasn't that a sweet thought?

"Morgana?" The knock had her heart jumping until she recognized her sister's voice. Her living, breathing sister. Schooling the strong emotions she was feeling the High Priestess cleaned her chin as best as she could.

"Come in."

Morgause strode inside the room almost regally, her eyes roaming the land outside the window before zeroing on her. "How are you?"

"I'm well" Morgana replied, frowning. "Hungry, but well."

Morgause nodded while the shadow behind her followed suit with his own declaration. "That is excellent news, my lady."

"Thank you, my lord" She answered stoically, watching Agravaine's calculating gaze, still unsure, still measuring them up, and yet so eager to get blood on his hands. Just like last time. "I really am grateful for your hospitality."

"That is absolutely unnecessary, considering the circumstances."

"Well, it is only natural that enemies of Uther should stand together." She declared, scratching her nail over the table, her eyes flickering to Aggravaine's hesitation, almost as if she could see the pieces coming together behind that gaze. Then he nodded, bouncing his long hair up and down. "Are you sure we're safe here, my lord?"

Agravaine followed her stare to the planes outside, nodding confidently. "This old keep belonged to me after I became of age, my brother would take Castle De Bois and I would live here. After his death, the keep came into the rule of Castle De Bois and remained without a noble ruler. Rest assured that everyone here is loyal to me."

"That is good know" Morgana commented. "I thank you for your service, and please, know you shall be rewarded well for it."

"Yes, indeed, my lady." She saw him worrying his lips, while casting a look at her sister who watched everything with suspicion. "If there is anything else I can do for you."

"Not at the moment." She looked away, only listening as the man took his leave and then her sister muttering a spell for the sake of their privacy.

"Are you sure that man is trustworthy?"

_ No one is worthy of trust. _ She thought, remembering that even allies with promises would die and leave forever. She felt a stab of pain all of the sudden and found that her nail was now broken, the blood seeping out into the wood almost lazily as she answered.

"Agravaine watched Uther not only kill his sister but his brother as well, he is as haunted by the destruction of his family as the rest of us"

Morgause was not appeased as she came forward, taking her hand and giving her a strange look as she whispered a healing spell. "By the way he looks at you, I would say he is moved by more than that."

That was an understatement if anything. Agravaine's loyalty had as many layers as a onion. He wanted vengeance, he wanted a body to share his bed, he wanted to feel vindicate and also feel like he had taken from Uther his beloved daughter.

"He lost two wives to fever and birth, I don't begrudge him a look. If he goes too far I'll let you know" _After I've gelded him myself_, she thought, looking blankly down at the knife sitting on her table. "We should talk about other things."

"Yes, lets do it, starting by how you were so certain this man would help us."

"Because he was useful to me once before, until his death." She saw Morgause's eyes widening and fought the urge to laugh again, it was also madness, and maybe she was mad to be living through this but when she saw Emrys about to blast her sister and hurt her she couldn't help but dive into this world and embrace it anyway, calling on her years of harnessed power to save her. "I was older than you when I died…"

She saw her sister slowly taking in what she said, until something seemed to finally piece together in her mind. "A vision then, just like I thought." Morgause looked her over, her eyes twinkling. "If that is true, then it's wonderful news. We have no need to wait if the key to Camelot's destruction was revealed before your eyes. You must know a way to do it."

"You died..." Morgana said suddenly, but Morgause didn't even pause.

"Is that what you saw? Will my death bring the end of Camelot?"

"No, sister, I..."

"If that is case so be it" Morgana's eyes widened, and suddenly she felt the Isle of the Blessed rising around her, its scarred land and shadows drowning her as she gripped the dagger between her hands. "Uther must die sister, my life would be a small price to pay. If that is what it takes to free those with magic from his tyranny, to make him pay for all his crimes, then I would die happily."

"You don't need to die!" Morgana bellowed. "And it wasn't that sort of vision! I didn't see anything! I lived it!"

Her temper had clearly frightened her sister. Around her, the furniture tremble under waves of power, but Morgana couldn't stop it, she couldn't, not now that she was talking. "I lived! I lived until I was thirty and two, I lived to be betrayed and hurt and abandoned until I was stabbed in the guts by a sword forged in dragon's breath! I died and woke up Queen of Camelot, like destiny was playing a cruel joke on my life, as it has done for many years now!"

Morgana tried to breathe as her words died away, but suddenly, the air around her felt more like lead, her lungs were weak, and her knees buckled. The ground seemed to suddenly disappear from under her as her vision darkened. A grave. Her world was a grave and the wails of a white dragon, the sun was gone, always gone.

Hands reached around her, but her drumming heart refused to let her go.

When she woke up again, Morgause was sitting by her bed and her hands were running through her hair, unnecessarily combing the tangled mess. They locked eyes, and Morgana waited, watching her sister above her, her face without the scars that had been there in her last days. Her memories of so long ago were fogged and uncertain, but even after the living grave she would never forget the sight of that scar.

"You realize that what you speak of, should be impossible." Morgause spoke softly and Morgana nodded as if moving underwater. "With everything that was taught to me about magic and the Old Religion, I never heard of anything like this. Even the most powerful seers could only have glimpses of the future."

"I'm aware."

"But magic is still magic." Morgause whispered, and she was suddenly the High Priestess again, not really a worried sister. "So, you have died, and now you're here, do you remember your life?"

"Some of it" Morgana tried, drowned by a grave and Mordred's sword buried in the rocks. "I need help though, to remember."

"I might know a way, but you must be certain." Morgause said again and her tone had Morgana frowning. "It is an old potion, to bring back what was forgotten, but you're asking me for a life of memories and that might be dangerous and painful. There is no way to purge bad memories from the good ones, or even to seek only that which you wish for."

Morgana thought about it only for an instant. She was no stranger to suffering, and she would do whatever it took if it meant reaching her goals, destroying her enemies and donning her rightful crown.

_I'll see Camelot on its knees even if I have to look through the veil of my pain._

It would take a full day for the potion to be ready, and so it was that at Morgause's insistence Morgana found herself outside that afternoon, allowing her feet to walk Agravaine's property with slow deliberate steps.

The keep around her was old, with long clean walls and ceilings, supported by decadent columns of marble now covered in vines and moss. Pictures of men and women built with thousands of tiny colorful stones could be seen in the main courtyard, cracked and destroyed by the vegetation bellow. The ruins of a people long dead. Around it though, the lands were filled with dense woods and wide fields colored by autumn's arrival, where horses could be bred and then sold all over the kingdom. A good place for the youngest child of a noble family. A good place for an insignificant life amounting to nothing.

Looking over her shoulder, Morgana spied the Blood Guard walking five steps behind, his hood keeping his face hidden, even during the day. They never talked, never balked when ordered and never surrendered. In the past Morgana remembered feeling intimidated by them, but now it was like staring down at bugs she could crush under her boot, not something worthy of meeting. Not that she knew anyone worthy of it, betrayal and disappointment were the only constants in her life after all. Even her sister had abandoned her, eager to die, even now she was eager to die.

_ It might be my destiny. To be loved and then betrayed. _

Somehow she imagined it wouldn't be so bad if she had never known Arthur, Gwen and Merlin in the first place. Had she been alone her whole life, this ache in her heart might have never existed. Had Aithusa and Mordred never come before her eyes, she would never have grieved.

_ I blame myself for what you've become. _Emrys had barked in her final moments, even in the end his arrogance shined through.

_ And what have I become? _

_ Alone. _The answer was so simple she felt like laughing. _ Did I kill Arthur at least? _ She tried to remember, but the last thing she had seen had been her brother's still living eyes, eyes filled with pain. _ Alone and broken. _

Her eyes suddenly rested upon the bracelet around her trembling wrist, the crest of Gorlois glittering, seeming mocking her state of mind. _ You were the first to leave me, weren't you? Everyone leaves eventually whether they wished it or not. _Disgusted by her weakness, she closed her hand into a fist, her muscles strung and eager for release. When she screamed, her power burst with a spell, and the wall to her left crumbled and burst outwards, raining debris and stone towards the fields beyond. Breathing hard as she glanced at what her hands were capable of, she made a silent promise that Camelot would be on the receiving end of it one day.

"You there!" The guard watching her squared his shoulders like a scared puppy, good. "Give me your blade!"

Wordlessly, the guard approached, his height was very close to her own so that she actually caught a glimpse of bright brown eyes under the hood. Quickly, he unsheathed one of the two swords he had strapped to his belt offering it to her, hilt first. Morgana never understood those who used two weapons, the training necessary to wield both would make it almost impossible to win a fight against an experienced swordsman, but the weapon was a fine one at least, well forged and well balanced, with a simple bare wooden hilt.

"Why is there blood on your sword?" She asked, he hesitated. "Speak."

"While you were unconscious, there were knights of Camelot closing in, my lady. Your sister sent us to deal with them." His voice cracked a little and yet his words were clear and straight. "It was a fierce battle, but me and my siblings won, not one was left alive."

She cocked her head to the side, amused. "How many did you kill?"

"Two my lady, one in single combat when he slipped on the mud, the other stabbed in the neck when he almost killed one of my brothers."

In silence, she nodded, lifting the weapon to tap at his beardless chin. "Fight me."

The shadowy face couldn't be seen, but hesitantly, he unsheathed his second sword. Happy to be obeyed, Morgana tested the blade in her hands, twirling the sword in a slow swing, while her muscles complained.

_Weak, but it will do._

She attacked, slow at first, her blade meeting the guard's defense without real strength and each time the steel met steel, she felt the blood pumping through her veins with the Battle of Camlann humming in her mind like a long lost song.

She struck high, with force and the guard staggered back in surprise. Her heart was beating faster now, and she let each strike be a vengeful blow against her pain. She saw Gwen sitting on her throne, wearing her crown and brought her free hand to punch her enemy. His hood fell back back, revealing a surprised young face that swan in her vision under Mordred's peaceful slumber. He was retreating now, and the beast coiled around her soul stirred awake, each shock of steel flaring its thirsty for blood with shards of pain. Morgause's death, Aithusa's anguish, the Sarrum's torture and Uther's rage. Morgana bellowed and brought her sword down, driving the young guard to his knees and then to the ground. She struck his blade blindly and suddenly a surge of power coursed through her and towards the sword, and the lad's blade burst into pieces of shining blue steel.

Arthur's eyes, her brother's eyes, dead eyes._ Dead, dead, dead, dead… _Brown eyes, filled with fear as the young guard trembled under her.

Blinking at the sight, Morgana grinned. The fear was sweet, if felt good that she could put it there. She cocked her arm back, eager for the sight of red drenching the grass when a loud call broke through her haze.

"Sister!"

Her arm stopped inches away from the guard's throat, as it bobbed in fear under that beardless chin. Looking up, she found Morgause standing a few feet away, giving her a look like a impatient parent.

"The potion is ready, come along now." Morgana nodded, dropped the sword and, without looking back, left the guard alone to reach her sister. "You should not play with the guard like that, they're a valuable resource."

"There are always men with swords to be found somewhere, dear sister, I've found plenty in my time." Morgause ignored her.

Once inside their quarters, her sister walked towards a cauldron over the hearth, took a ladle and poured a small amount of a golden liquid into a bottle.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes..." Morgana said, as her sister enchanted the flask and the liquid shone like a river of stars. With the flow of the sword practice still pumping through her veins, she watched eagerly as the bane of her sorrow was placed in the palm of her hand.

"You know you shall remember everything, down to the first word to ever leave your lips."

"Yes..."

Once this was over, she would find Mordred and Aithusa, she would find out where the dragon came from and bring her back, she would make sure the world was safe for both of them.

Morgause kept her eyes upon her for a long baited breath. "I'll watch over you."

Morgana took the potion in one single gulp.

* * *

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	4. LIGHT AND DARKNESS

**LIGHT AND DARKNESS  
**

* * *

The papers felt rough and dry under his fingers, the writing becoming blurred as the weight pressing against his temples seemed to worsen altogether. It was all he could do not to go straight to his chambers and hide there for the rest of the day.

Sighing, Arthur rubbed his eyes, the crackling fire feeling like a lullaby as it kept the autumn's chill from the solar. His father's solar.

He had been so hesitant to take the place before, but with his father still in bed due to Morgana's betrayal, the weight of the kingdom had fallen upon his shoulders and that was not a responsibility he had the luxury to deny. People depended on him, their safety and well being was now his to bear and so, sighing yet again, he snapped his back briefly, adjusted his arse on the padded chair and tried once more to read the report in front of him.

It felt like he had been there for days, but he knew it had been only hours, hours spent trying to decide what could be dealt with later and what needed his attention immediately. He read through harvest bills, foreign missives, and reports. Cenred's army and Morgana's brief reign had left his lands in shambles, and he needed to make sure there would be enough food for the coming winter.

Furthermore, outlaws had grown bold now that so many losses had been added to his army, further spreading his knights to safeguard the land. The paper in his hands described one of such actions, which Sir Lancelot had recently solved by ambushing a group of bandits close to Rushwick. Satisfied that his new knight seemed to be in control of the situation, Arthur jumped to the next scroll, discovering that it was a petition of grain from the southern villages. He put that away with other papers he would read again in the morning and took the next, in which Sir Leon's elegant writing required permission to summon levies from the commoners.

Arthur took the quill and signed his name quickly, making a mental note to have it declared in the morning, but paused as the tip left the paper. He wondered how the people would react to this. If they were trying to bring in the harvest, having strangers going into their lands for the men of fighting age would be taken grudgingly. They would be angry. He was struck suddenly by the idea of throwing the document into the fire and was glad that he hadn't put his seal on it.

All around him his gaze caught sight of his father's decoration. His armor was polished and standing into a corner, while a collection of swords and axes decorated the walls beside the heads of hunt prizes. In one such display, there was the broken staff that had summoned a dead army into Camelot not long ago. Morgana had been a hero then, but now he had to wonder how much of that was true. Her smile, his congratulations exchanged later in her chambers, the hug he gave her, thankful that she was alive and well, did it mean anything at all? No, he didn't want to be reminded of his supposed sister. Arthur instead thought of his father and his satisfied smile when he placed the broken staff on the wall.

"Let this be a reminder that evil can never surpass an honorable heart."

Suddenly he looked back to the paper. Camelot was so depleted in fighting men that he had to bring in knights from the borders to keep the peace. If he called upon the peasants and placed swords in their hands it would certainly be a relief for the troops. His father always placed great importance in the army, and if he was to continue his work, Arthur had to keep Camelot safe.

Determined, he was about to place his seal upon the scroll when there was a knock on the door.

"What is it?" He called, watching Merlin putting his head inside the room.

"The council will be meeting soon."

"Already?" Arthur frowned, he must have lost track of time. "Dammit, I wish they could just make decisions without me."

"Maybe they can, but I'm not sure that would be a good idea." Arthur nodded brusquely, the pressure upon his temples growing. He grumbling, her pushed away with the chair. "Someone seems to be in a mood."

"I have a kingdom to rule Merlin, I don't have the luxury of having moods."

"Yeah right" his servant snorted.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Arthur ignored him. He grabbed his cloak, threw it at Merlin and waited to feel its weight on his shoulders. When ready, he marched down the hallway on his path to the Council Chambers, Merlin's steps following him all the way until they faded into the back of his mind.

It had not been long ago that taking this same path every day was taken for granted, and even now he held his breath at the sight of that same door by the corner, a sight he always carried with dread and hope in those days that seemed to have gone by so quick.

It was a cold night of raging storms the first time he had come to that door.

Lightning clashed across the skies, roaring like foul beasts, while monsters of shadows spread all over the castle, encased in their cages of light, things he had wondered if were the rage of that god the New Religion spoke so much about.

In his memories he would hesitate to open the door, only to find a little girl looking back at him, angry green eyes seeming never blinking, the same eyes that his father had helped out of the carriage one cold morning. She had been so indignant that he was there, but he couldn't help it back then, his fear of storms had always felt shameful, something his father wouldn't approve of, and seeking comfort in his mother's chambers had always been his secret. As if there he might find a small connection to the woman he had only heard about.

Until her arrival of course.

_"You're scared"._ He remembered her saying when he startled due to the thunder.

_"I'm not scared, princes aren't supposed to be scared."_

It was such a certainty to him, something reinforced by his father everyday of his life, something he was as sure of as the color of the skies and Morgana had shattered that belief with a giggle.

_"My dad used to tell me that it's all right to be scared, that everyone gets scared sometimes."_

Small boots had carried him here once, and then many times over, seeking a companionship he couldn't really find with his father or the other knights, until a time came when his boots had been splattered with blood.

_Sometimes, you've got to do what you think is right and damn the consequences._

"Arthur?" He blinked, not realizing he had been staring at the door as if waiting to meet her there once more. Embarrassed, he started to walk again, ignoring Merlin's call, even as his servant started to speak. "You couldn't do anything, you know that right? Morgana made her choices."

Arthur pursed his lips, keeping his pace. He was too tired to argue with Merlin, even if his argument was sound. He indeed had no power over the choices of others, Gwen had said the same when she met him after the battle and even though he was thankful, he couldn't help feeling lost, so it felt fair that he tackled what he could solve instead.

The council meeting was as dull, as it was somber.

Geoffrey of Monmouth had plenty of information in his hands, saying that the western villages' food supplies were indeed not enough to feed the whole kingdom, and Arthur had to authorize the use of the citadel's reserves. Sir Leon asked about the men he wanted to recruit, and Arthur allowed him to do so, but only those above twenty years old. Finally, some good news came when Lord Hector informed of the arrival of three hundred men at arms from the De Bois lands.

"Rather useful folk sire, it will ease the burden on our men in keeping the peace and the load of work."

"Right, I'll make sure to send my gratitude to my uncle." Arthur declared, wondering if he should have thought of asking… No, ordering that himself earlier.

"On another matter, Sire, I feel it is important to say that Essetir currently finds itself without a king and a army."

"What are you implying, Lord Hector?" Sir Leon questioned to which the man bristled.

"Well, it seems only wrong to not put the question of conquest on the table. Essetir has wide and fertile lands, harbors and mines. Riches that Camelot could surely enjoy."

Arthur frowned, breathing very slowly. He half wanted to leave the answer to Sir Leon, but he also realized he needed to take charge. "I thank you for your council, Lord Hector, but I find Camelot is in no condition to sustain a war after our last battle, and with winter so close."

"I'm sure our knights are brave and strong enough, sire."

"I'm sure of it as well." Once more he felt the urge to scream his frustration, but held that down. _A king must never show his emotions, son, fear and authority will get you respect. _"Anything else?"

His councilmen looked to one another, and he took his time to study them. Lord Cygnus, thick eyebrows and white beard, seeming always pursing his lips, Lord Tanner and Lord Orin, both his father's age and still strong as bulls. Lord Hector was rubbing his chin in thought, no doubt wondering about pushing for war later on, while Geoffrey merely allowed his old wise eyes to run through the others. Finally, Sir Leon cleared his throat.

"Actually, sire, there has been some news about Morgause and Morgana, they have been sighted by a patrol, moving north."

"North?" Arthur frowned, trying to think away from the ache in his heart. "The Perilous Lands?"

"We're not sure, sire, our patrol was attacked shortly after. Half of them were killed in the fight and the others had to retreat."

Arthur nodded, schooling his face. And just like that more of his knights were dead on the ground. "I want the searches to stop for now, have the patrols keep their eyes open, but not to engage. I won't have more lives lost against her."

"Yes, sire." Sir Leon nodded right away and Arthur was thankful for that, he wasn't sure if he could deal with someone questioning his decisions.

"Council dismissed."

Slowly the room was emptied, leaving him in the company of his servant. Merlin's presence at least didn't demand him to keep his emotions in check and, relieved somewhat, Arthur allowed his face to fall.

"Arthur?"

"Yes Merlin?" He raised his head and actually glowered at the servant when he saw the smile painting his lips. "What are you grinning about?"

"You look like crap."

"And you look like you really need to get to work muddying some horses."

"All right, I might, if you tell me to, but then I won't give you the good news."

"Good news?" Arthur frowned.

"Yes, Gaius told me to tell you that your father spoke this morning." Arthur blinked, unable to say anything for a moment. Merlin kept going. "I know it isn't much, but Gaius said that with enough support, he should recover."

"I..." Arthur hesitated, looking over his servant for a moment, his heart felt ten times lighter somewhat as the fear for his father's health moved away. "Well, in that case, please go and thank Gaius for me."

"Will do..." He moved to the door and stopped. "Oh, and Gwen told me to tell you she will be watching your father tonight, so you can rest."

Arthur swallowed the lump that formed inside his throat and nodded. "Thank her for me as well"

"Will do..."

_Thank you too…_ He thought, but the words, for some reason never left his lips.

And just like that, he was alone in a chamber that, as far as he could remember, had been the place from which his father ruled his kingdom. Most people always thought of the throne room as a seat of power, but while it made for a astounding sight, it was the Council Chamber that sprouted every decision and where Uther Pendragon's eyes held the strength to silence any man. Sitting there, Arthur felt horribly small. A part of him, a part that he was ashamed of, actually couldn't wait for his father to be well again, not out of love, but so he wouldn't need to rule any longer. Getting to his feet, the prince moved to the door yet again, wondering if some sleep would do him any good.

He was walking down the hallway when he heard the noise, a whisper of steel leaving its sheath, a promise of death. Feeling a chill riding along his spine, Arthur lowered his hand to his sword, his eyes falling to the door to his right. The door to an empty room, her room.

Tense, the blond took a deep breath and pushed the door open, walking inside the dark chambers, his breath catching inside his throat at the sight of a shadow standing by the window, the pale glow of a naked blade in her hands. Suddenly, Arthur wished he had called the guards, and yet he couldn't bring himself to draw his own weapon, even when his sister's pale green eyes finally locked gazes with him.

"Hello, Arthur."

Arthur blinked, her voice sounded nonchalant, but held a tinge of sadness to it that made him stop, his heart hammering against his rib cage.

"Morgana." He licked his lips. "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious? I've come for my stuff." And as she stepped closer, Arthur could see she had a travel bag in her hands and her body was covered by her tailored mail and armor. Standing there, she was the sight of a warrior herself, and yet when he saw the pale branches sticking out of her bag, Arthur frowned.

"That staff..."

"Belongs to the High Priestesses." Morgana interrupted him, moving around the bed. Her personal chest was open and she took out a book to place among her things. "Along with many other items from Camelot's Vaults, but you don't have to worry about them."

"I can't allow you to leave" Arthur said, clenching his fist around his blade's handle, but Morgana kept loading her bag. "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you clearly, doesn't mean I care for what you think."

"You..." Arthur worried his lips, the burning in his eyes almost as hurtful as the words that came next. "You betrayed us."

He watched his… sister, stopping her movements for the briefest moment. It was enough for Arthur to snap, all of his lingering rage, hurt and confusion spilling out like poison.

"How could you do that Morgana? How could you suddenly work with a sorceress like that? Our father was wrong to lie to you, b-but…" He paused, thinking through the blur that was his vision, desperately grasping for the first words that came to mind. "I thought we were friends..."

After a moment of silence in which he regained his breath, Morgana finally finished what she was doing and Arthur obsorved her pulling a cloak around her shoulders. Graciously, she moved around the bed and stood, only a few paces in front of him. Why did it feel like miles though?

"We were friends Arthur" The use of the word in the past felt like a punch to his gut.

"Morgana..." she raised a hand to stop him and Arthur flinched, half expecting a spell to throw him away. She noticed, he was sure, but didn't say a word.

"Stop with that, you know perfectly well my reasons, for years I spoke against Uther's cruelty, and watched him burning and executing innocents out of his fear."

"His fear was justified, haven't you seen what magic does?"

"What it did to me you mean?" Morgana questioned with such a smile, sharp as a knife.

"Your crimes..."

"What crimes were those, Arthur? Having magic?"

"You killed innocent people."

"And how many innocents did your father kill? How many men, women and children died because he was nothing but a frightened child throwing a tantrum?"

"He is not like that, and that doesn't justify your actions."

"It doesn't" She admitted and Arthur blinked in surprise when she looked away. "Not some of them anyway. What I won't regret though was getting rid of Uther and his reign. What I won't regret, ever, is fighting so my kin won't need to fear for their lives."

Arthur shook his head, fighting himself all of the sudden. "I-I can't let you go..."

"Oh, Arthur, you speak as if you had any saying in what I do." She moved past him, and, surprisingly, he couldn't find the strength to lift his sword, he did however had strength to ask her.

"Where are you going?"

He didn't expect her to answer, not really. "Away, I'm tired of this rotting country, those blind knights and the filthy laws. I'm tired of all of it."

"By all rights, you should be judged."

"Maybe" She whispered, looking over her shoulder. "Then who is gonna judge you and all those who killed when the order was given? Who was there to judge Uther? He was king, I was a queen, and the law, in the end , was what we wanted."

And then, just like that, she walked out of the door and was gone.

Arthur lingered inside her chambers, alone with the darkness, wondering why he was still not calling for the guards. Wondering why her words made him nauseous, afraid and ashamed all at once.

* * *

##################


	5. WIELDING THE BLADE

**WIELDING THE BLADE  
**

* * *

The man hanging from the crow cages was dead, while by his side, two others were getting there by the look of them. Murderers, the sign read, and yet when her sister insisted on asking around they found out the men had actually killed two guards, both responsible for taking food and try to rape a woman from the city.

A very ugly affair, she concluded as one survivor moaned in anguish. One of his eyes was already crow food and she wondered how long it would take for him to lose the other.

All around the villagers didn't even flinch, going about their usual business like any other day, at least on the surface. The Smith would hammer metals in his shop, building a dull song from across the street, while vendors and merchants tried to match the tune with their own shouts and offers. The smell of hanging meat reached her nostrils, and the laughter of a drunkard ceased when he fell on his arse.

It was, by all means, a filthy and ugly place, about two dozen hovels and stone shelters built around a tower where, she had no doubt, a knight or small lord would be greasing his clothes in fat and wine when the meal came. She could see it in her mind, the lands around the tower would send in their grain, remain with little of it and would receive back enough only so they wouldn't starve during winter. Fear kept them people in line. Still, during their travels, Morgause found this was not the worse place Amata had to offer.

Sniffing, the Sorceress crooked her nose when a fat pig run by her so fast that pieces of what she hoped to be only mud flew over her clothes. Glaring at the young boy giving chase, she pursed her lips and went back inside the small tavern.

Hoping for a breath of fresh air in that place was like praying for diamonds in a swamp.

The smell of ale and vomit greeted her again when she came in. The owner, a plump man with arms the size of logs was sweeping the floor, while his children rolled the tables and cleaned the mugs. His wife would no doubt be in the kitchen as well, getting food ready for the afternoon and the evening. The man looked up when she came over, his yellow teeth showing when he smiled.

"Morning Lass, would ya like some breakfast? My wife can fix something in the kitchens."

"Just some bread and cheese will do, and cider if you have it." Morgause answered, finding a table close to the window. She would rather have wine, but this sort of place would hardly be able to afford it and the trip had been a trial to her patience from the start.

She idly pulling a loose thread from her cloak when her sister finally emerged from her room. Her hair was loose and tangled, falling over her shoulders and simple traveling clothes, as she blinked sleepily under the morning light. Following her out of the door went a young man, hurriedly putting on a shirt and moving to the kitchen, no doubt needing to help his mother.

"Morning" Morgana greeted her, taking a piece of bread, seeming relaxed.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"Done what?"

Morgause sniffled. "Indulge yourself with the likes of that lad, he could have diseases or something."

"He seemed pretty clean to me" Morgana said looking at her from the corner of her eyes, her lips bending upwards. "And eager as well."

"I didn't know we were traveling through this cursed land so you could go on vacation."

"You know that is not what I'm doing." Morgause watched her sister's face, looking for a lie all the same, but it only seemed to amuse Morgana. A young girl shyly left a tankard atop the table, the smell of apple cider moving over them as Morgana poured herself a cup. "I told you what I was going to do, I was very clear that you didn't have to come with me."

Morgause frowned, lowering her voice to a whisper. "And should I've just let you come alone to this cursed land, hoping you wouldn't be captured and burned?"

"You could have just sent the Blood Guard."

"You know what I mean."

Her voice sounded harsh to her own ears, and Morgana lowered her cup. Her bracelet gleamed around her wrist, her pale green eyes looking out of the window as the rising sun painted the sadness in them. "I know."

Not for the first time Morgause was struck by the sight. So far she had seen many sides of her sister, scared, brave, vengeful and confused, but she had never seen this melancholy that had plagued her since she woke up. Once she would have guessed this was a result of losing the place where she grew up, and her so called friends, but of course, the source could only be one thing.

Immediately she went back to those days after the potion and gone down her sister's throat, watching her struggling, sometimes going so far as to scream in her sleep. It had taken two full nights until the process was complete and when she finally woke up, it was only so she could drench her dress in tears before falling asleep once more. When she woke up again, Mogause had watched her devouring the food like a starving man, barely minding the grease and crumbs raining over her bed.

When she was done, Morgause finally asked the question she wanted to. "Sister, has the potion done its job? Are you well?"

"Yes." Morgana had answered in whispers. "I remember everything."

"And?"

Her sister looked away, and she saw that look. It was so shocking, it looked so much like defeat, but Morgause had no idea what to do in that regard.

"I want to travel."

"To Camelot? It would be unwise to get there while you're weak."

Morgana frowned at her words, her smirk almost dead on her face. "I'm far stronger than that, sister"

"And how do you plan to take down Camelot?"

The answer had surprised and angered her. "I won't destroy Camelot, I just need to get my things."

"Your things?"

"My sword, my armor, whatever else I need to make a trip." Morgause had thought the room had grown strangely cold then, when those eyes seemed to watch her and see nothing. "I have some anger I have to get rid of."

Now, now here they were, on a strange land of a strange country. A country that hated their people, and her sister was eating, drinking and fucking as if she had not a care in the world. She was about to question Morgana again when the shouts cut through her thoughts. Curiosity piqued, she looked through the window only the meet the sight of people running towards the commotion. Her sister rose from her chair and she followed.

The bucket was turned over, a man in full mail had a feet atop of it while a young woman whimpered on the ground and under his gaze.

"I thought my warning had been clear!" The man shouted. His silver necklace told Morgause he was someone of power, probably the leader of the men-at-arms, as his fingers pointed to the cages above him. "These men here were sent to the cages for murdering honest soldiers in your service, I was clear in that they would receive no food or water as by the law, and yet..."

Behind him, six of his men, swords in hand, while a bunch of others watched everything from where they sat under a canopy, while the lass looked away. "Please sir, I was just giving him some water…"

"Some water you say? But that is just against the law! You were helping criminals, did you know?" The man grinned down at her. "You have any idea what they did?"

To her credit, the girl's voice was loud and clear, even as she cried. "They killed the soldiers who were threatening T-Tiana.. S-sire..."

"Threatening, oh no, they were merely seeing that Lord John receives his due, otherwise how would you feel if these roads were suddenly filled with outlaws? Those taxes allow us to keep you safe."

"B-but sir, he is dying..."

"Really?" The man's eyes widened. "Funny, I've seen men spent a full month alive inside a cage, how long have they been there? Three days? Four?"

"S-six."

"And they have received their share of water, have they not?" The girl hesitated, then nodded. "Well, then you were breaking the law, were you not, lassie?"

Another nod.

"Well then, maybe I should see that we find a cage for you." At his words, Morgause saw the girl shivering. Around her the Smith was clenching his fist, and a dozen others were doing the same when they were not sending venomous looks towards the guards. "But, lucky you, I'm feeling generous today, so you might give these poor men some water."

"R-really?"

"Lyssa! Don't!"

"Stand back!" The spear rose, the steel pointed towards the heart of the young woman who was stepping forward and now the rest of the soldiers were getting up as well. The leader of the soldiers smirked, no doubt enjoying the power he had over them. If he clearly wasn't worthy of being called a pig, Morgause could almost relate. She too enjoyed being a source of fear to her enemies.

"Really" The man continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "I'll allow it, but of course you must repay my kindness in some way later, it would be only fair."

Now Morgause could feel the crowd tensing all of the sudden, it was the baited breath of a storm, and yet under the dozen soldiers armed and armored that now stood across the street, she doubted the storm would blow more than a breeze. The little girl was slowly getting to her feet, hesitating in looking to the other villagers and the hand reaching her way.

"You're a coward!"

"Who said that?" The man rose angrily, and Morgause wasn't surprised that the only person moving was her sister, sword in hand. "Oh, now that is funny! A woman in costume!"

He laughed, his men following suit, but her sister was unfazed as she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "I dislike the way you're abusing these people."

"Oh really now, you must be from far away then, because this is called justice."

"How is that?" Morgana questioned. "It seems to be common knowledge that those men were merely defending their own from your soldiers."

The man chuckled. "Well, that would surely grant then mercy, but unfortunately, the word of a commoner is not worth much. They're all a bunch of liars, you can trust a knight in that, lass."

Morgana blinked, seeming confused, and Morgause had half a mind to drag her away. "A knight? Pardon me, but I don't see a knight around."

"I'm a knight!" The man declared with a frown. "I'm Sir..."

Before Morgause could figure out what would come next, a hand shot forward, something whispered in the wind and then the leader of the guards was tumbling back, blood seeping from his hand where a dagger was now buried.

She knew who was responsible even before her sister moved forward, taking advantage of the surprise to ram the first guard through with her sword. The second one tried to react, but Morgana was faster, her blade sung and a gash of scarlet red burst from the man's throat. Now, the rest of the soldiers were moving, ten of them, all converging on her sister's coal mane. Morgause gasped, ready to start using her magic, but when Morgana turned around, her smirk was still there, making her stop.

The swordswoman advanced on the first spearman, getting past the sharp point. The soldier tried to retreat, but managed only one step before the sword was shoved under his chin and through his skull, his bowels loosening and filling the air with a foul stench. Another spear lashed out, and Morgana turned, using the body as a shield, and kicking it into the mass of men. Another dagger flew from her hands, straight through a knee, while a spear shattered under her steel, turning the village into a cacophony of screams, grunts and curses.

Morgause saw the Smith from earlier bringing his hammer down on a soldier, while the rest of the villagers reacted as well, overpowering the men by sheer numbers. In the confusion, she saw the so called knight from before trying to reach for the girl, Lyssa, and before Morgause knew what she doing her eyes glowed gold and the men tripped on the mud.

From that point on, it wasn't a battle, but a massacre.

When Morgana finally kicked the last man to the ground and plunged her sword into his chest, the village gave away to silence. _Well_, Morgause thought, watching her sister covered in blood from head to toe as she set her gaze upon the knight. _Good to know all that sparring with the Blood Guard has paid off._

"Please don't! Don't do this! I have gold, I can give you..." Morgana slashed at his neck, and his words turned into gurgling noises as he drowned in his own blood.

Morgause kept her gaze on the crowd, wondering to which way they would turn now that the fight was over, because at any sign of danger to her sister she would make them pay. Morgana herself seemed much more confident in the strangers, as she became the center of attention.

"Can I trust that you all saw these men being killed by dangerous outlaws?"

"Big bearded men, came and disappeared like fog" the Smith answered, looking at the warrior woman. "I saw everything."

Her sister nodded calmly, seeming almost serene as she walked through the crowd, but Morgause wondered how much of those adoring gazes she was receiving would remain so if they knew she was a sorceress. Silently, she followed her sister to the stables, ready for a quick getaway. She was halfway through readying her saddle when the innkeeper's daughter appeared, carrying their small baggage. Nothing there was truly essential, but Morgause caught herself thanking her all the same, watching the lass spring away with a shy nod.

It was only far from the village was far away that she voiced her complaints.

"That was foolish, if anything went wrong we could've revealed our magic."

"I know" Morgana almost sounded happy.

"Why are we doing this again?"

"We had nothing else to do" was her sister's answer, as she covered her bloody dress with her cloak.

"You know what I mean, Amata is not fond of magic, sister."

"And the Sarrum is not fond of helping his people." Morgana retorted as they approached the edge of the woods. "I won't stand by and do nothing."

"Even if it means we get arrested and killed?"

"We won't, I told you, my visions would warn me of any danger." Morgana looked at her, and smirked. "I did see you using magic to protect that girl."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Morgause barked, just as a dozen shadows moved among the trees.

The Blood Guard bowed to them immediately, the dozen that were left after the battle of Camelot. Their leader, a gray-haired man with a crooked nose offered her a nod and quickly the two sisters were mounted inside a cordon of guards, weaving their path through the woods.

"Anyway, when I asked why we were doing this, you know I wasn't talking about that." By her side, Morgana nodded, her green eyes never leaving the tricky road ahead. "We should be in Camelot, using our powers to destroy Uther and his reign."

"And I already told you Camelot is too strong, there are plenty of other places where magic is hated and where we can make a difference."

"A real difference would be to kill Uther and put you on the throne."

After Morgana told her about her real parentage, Morgause had finally glimpsed a future where magic was free and the Goddess was adored all over the land, but now, her sister had insisted on taking this journey through a cursed kingdom, filled with poverty and cruelty and taking a sacred relic into it as well. At that thought, Morgause moved her gaze to the staff, held in the saddle of the Blood Guard. She shivered, thinking of its power, mended as it was.

"Just trust me" He sister insisted.

"It's hard to do that when you're running around fucking peasants and defending miserable villagers whose lives will still be miserable tomorrow."

"Tomorrow those men in the cages will be free, fed and safe, that little girl will never know the disgusting touch of an evil man and the whole village will sleep a little better and without fear."

Morgause swallowed the string of curses she wanted to scream. "You almost sound like you're some sort of hero, sister."

"Nothing of the sort, I just felt it was something I should do." Her sister looked down at the sword on her lap, the blood was already drying on the blade. It had been her father's. Just like the bracelet was their mother's. "Would it really be so bad that you trust me? I would think you learned to tell me things after you manipulated me."

"What?" The question caught her by surprise, and for a moment Morgause wasn't sure she heard it right, but as Morgana locked that green gaze into her, she knew the words were real. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"No I don't, frankly I have no idea how you would dare to accuse me of such thing."

Her sister scoffed. "Please don't patronize me, sister, it doesn't suit you. It might have taken me seeing everything happening again to understand, but I did. You found me alone in Camelot and did everything to be the only person I could love, and yet you failed to tell me about me being the vessel of your sleeping plague."

"You said you wanted Uther to die, you said you chose my side."

"And I did, I'm still on your side, but I don't think I would've said yes if the whole of Camelot had been at risk, and you knew it." Morgana answered seriously, and for the first time since her sister woke up, Morgause could see through those cold features into her feelings.

"And what of the whole of Camelot? What of people who cared for nothing and no one, people who see our kind as monsters? I wanted Uther, but frankly, I didn't give a damn if they died, and you shouldn't either!"

"There are innocents..."

"Like the peasants you shot? Remember?" The betrayal she glimpsed there made her clench her teeth and look away, her guts wrapping around themselves. "It was a risk worth taking, I needed to do it."

Morgana suddenly shook her head. "You should have told me everything and talked to me about it, like a real sister would."

"Uther..."

"I don't give a damn about Uther! I care about you!" Morgana spoke harshly, her eyes turning from dull green into a raging golden fire, and Morgause felt her body squeezed and released by an invisible force almost immediately.

Suddenly Morgana's angry gaze turned into horror, and Morgause could only watch her sister spurring her pale mount forward, ahead of the formation as an intruding thought suddenly appeared.

_Follow her._

Her legs didn't move. Around her, the Blood Guard remained silent and watchful, and her legs didn't move. She let her palfrey go on by himself and wondered how long it would take for nightfall.

* * *

##################


	6. THE SHADOW

**THE SHADOW  
**

* * *

**Warning: This chapter deals with traumatic flashbacks, sexual violence and abuse.**

Morgana could feel her rage brushing her heart like warm coal waiting for a spark, something that she found more and more uncomfortable each day.

Once upon a time, that rage had been her driving force, moving her forward through every scar, visible or not. When betrayal struck its ugly head, she used that rage to not fall apart, when lies were exposed and crimes were committed it was her rage which dried her tears and conquered her grief. When she became a prisoner, violated, humiliated and her only love was tortured before her eyes, her rage made her live, it brought her strength and eventually her freedom.

But now, now that life was gone, a future she would never allow to happen, and that rage, as rightful and satisfactory as it felt back then, was more and more turning into an enemy. She tried to rest it aside already, enjoying the new life she acquired at every opportunity, bathing herself in the sun and the wind, drinking the sights and smells of an open field, and the pleasures of the flesh, although the last one easily reminded her of other missing touches.

Her greatest secret, one taken to her grave.

Was this the cause of letting Arthur live even when she had him at her mercy? It was pure coincidence that he found her that night, no Emrys, no guards, just the two of them and yet her confused mind refused to bring forth the wishes that had ruled her last years of life. She had thought to leave Camelot behind, but apparently, that wasn't easily done. Her mind was still a mess, and her future was still a jumble of nothing.

There was one certainty though that was solid and clear. It was her vengeance yes, but Morgana couldn't help but also take it as a duty, more so as she traveled through Amata witnessing a land fit for survival, not living.

"My Lady..." Shocked, she glanced towards the hidden face of her guard. The hood made it seem like there were only shadows there, and so rarely she heard them speak it was easy to believe it, but now, now she knew that under the menacing sight was but a lad, not older than herself, with a youthful face and passable fencing skills. A youthful face she beat down with a blade whenever she felt close to losing it.

Looking down, Morgana realized her hands had been shaking, and quietly she closed them into fists, looking over the city square. The capital of Amata was as bleak and unsavory as the rest of the country, a city of woodwork and muddy streets, growing over masonry and marble from the old conquerors, the palace itself looming over them in gray stone menace.

A city of soldiers.

If Amata owed its power to anything was to their soldiers. That was why much of its taxes and benefits went into their army, making so the rest of the population lived very close to a state of slavery, and yet even the almost slaves would spit on the impaled corpses.

Morgana had not wished to take risks in this place, and so she had convinced Morgause to stay behind while she scouted the city with Accolon and another guard. All in all, she counted this as a very quick scouting mission, but she hadn't counted on the Sarrum having a whole druid camp captured recently. Apparently, he was making a service of it, parading the prisoners around and enticing the people to hate the so-called demons.

They limped by the main street now, those demons, chained and ragged, some naked, while the people cursed and spat on their way. A little kid threw a stone, hitting a middle-aged man on his side, he tripped and the soldiers roughly pushed him onward while the spit of a woman hit a young girl. Morgana watched and as she watched, the coals smoldered, she could almost feel the flames roaring to life inside herself. She was ready, she would do it. She would kill them all and sooth the fire.

_And killing things mends a broken heart?_

Her hand stop short of rising above the crowd, her eyes returning to their natural hue as she watched the moment one of the druids dared raise her eyes. Such a simple movement, a simple action, a small condemnation from a peaceful people, and yet Morgana felt the crows flinching around her, parents taking their children to cover, while faces twisted to mask their fear.

Fear.

_They are watching chained prisoners and they're afraid._

The fires diminished.

That was how he keeps control, scaring everyone of the monsters so they cower under his protection. And just like that Morgana was back in a snow covered Camelot, where the people huddled together for warmth and food distributed from the storages all over the realm.

Suddenly, she was standing on a balcony as a young man was brought to the central square, and strapped to a pole atop of a pile of firewood, higher that the tallest knight. He screamed, at first insults, barbs and finally just from the pain as the flames consumed him and the smell of roasted flesh tempted her into nightmares where she was the one burning.

"Why did he do that?" She had asked Arthur that morning. He was growing up, but still looked so much like a child, and he pouted and stilled his gaze as if repeating a lesson taught by his masters.

"Because magic is evil, it warps people into monsters and criminals who defy the natural order. That is what my father says." He told her. "We can't let it destroy more lives."

She had nodded, it made sense, but still, witnessing so much suffering seemed wrong somehow. She remembered her father's gentle voice, reading to her about justice and honor and somehow couldn't find him doing something like that to a person. She also couldn't imagine the knights of her books dragging someone to such a cruel destiny without batting an eye.

From that day, whenever she caught the Pendragon sigil on the crimson cloth of the noble warriors, she would hesitate, curtsy and flee from those cold eyes.

"We have to help" She said when she recovered herself. Accolon and the other guard had pulled her into a dark alley, the sound of a trap door banging open and the roaring crowd making her wince. Apparently, the Sarrum was planning to torture and kill one druid each day.

By her side, Accolon nodded, but the other guard hesitated, and for a moment she caught a glimpse of a gray beard and gray eyes under the hood. "I'm yours to command my lady, however, our high priestess commanded me to protect you, and a rescue might prove to be a difficult task since we don't know where they are imprisoned."

Morgana nodded. "Don't worry about that, I know where they are."

Pulling her own hood down, Morgana stepped into the light, listening to the guard's steps on the way. She took them around the castle's outer walls, muttering a quick spell to hide their presence while turning to a secluded courtyard behind the citadel. From where they stood atop the ridge, they could see several holes on the ground, blocked by heavy iron coverings, patrolled by guards in smoke gray doublets.

"The Sarrum doesn't use dungeons" Morgana explained, looking onto the living graves.

It only took a glimpse, and suddenly she was shivering, the memories were so vivid thanks to Morgause's potion, she could still feel the hunger, and thirsty and silence from the darkness.

And yet, the darkness had never been as bad as the blinding light when they took her out.

The sudden touch, a brush of skin on her finger, snapped her out of the memory, and she made herself look into Accolon's chestnut eyes and come back to the present. Voice faltering briefly, she spoke. "We're probably gonna have to wait till nightfall."

"I think you're right my lady."

"What is your name?" The question made the old guard hesitate, but she asked anyway at least hoping for a distraction. "I learned Accolon's name and was unsure of how to call you."

The guard's head snapped towards Accolon, who seemed to shrink into himself. "He shouldn't have done that."

"It wasn't his fault." Morgana said. "I made him answer."

"Even if you asked, he shouldn't have answered, my lady." The guard spoke coldly. "When one joins the Blood Guard, we give away our names."

"Just like your families and past loyalties." When the man nodded, Morgana sighed. "It seems a high price for loyalty."

"A just price, some might call."

"So I take it you won't tell me?"

The man hesitated. "I was once called Bors, my Lady.'

"Well, Bors, we should find a room at the inn and get ready, we're about to elicit a rescue."

They moved as soon as night fell upon the kingdom of Amata.

Using her magic, Morgana assured that she and her companions would be invisible to everyone else as they approached the living graves. Muttering under her breath, the sorceress fed her power into the dark night, the guards falling asleep at her passage as if brushed away by a distant wind. Walking over the unconscious men, she stopped short, gazing down upon a face that earlier had been twisted in sadistic pleasure, now asleep. Almost innocent inside that leather mail and spiked helmet. Her hand moved to her dagger as if on its own.

_Will it mend my broken heart?_

The answer felt fleeting and distant even after the guards died.

When they finally came upon the first cells, Morgana made a quick count in her head. The main grave had at least twenty prisoners placed together and shackled to the walls, while another prisoner was isolated from the others in her own pit.

_"Hello."_ She sent to their minds, feeling mixed surprise and dread at her touch. _ "Please don't be alarmed, I'm here to help you. I need to know if you are strong enough to climb." _

She waited, and after a long moment, felt the touch of another mind, speaking with a man's voice. _ "Most of us can climb, but there are children who will need help." _

_"Very well."_

Nodding at Accolon and Bors to move on with the rescue Morgana went to get the lonely prisoner. A simple brush of magic had the covering moving away, revealing the pit. Her body froze when she stood before the hole, and it took one long breath before she jumped, muttering a spell under her breath to stop her fall, and land swiftly in front of a woman.

She was plump and old, her clothes had been torn, exposing her legs and one of her breasts, while the hair above her head had been cut and shredded, leaving only patches and uneven bangs of dark coal. Idly Morgana let her fingers run through her own mane, remembering the nights she wished they would cut it. Then she smelled the musky stale stink of the grave and her stomach churned. It was cold all of a sudden. Cold, and dark.

_You'll do as you're told, or the beast suffers…. _

The crossbows had made any attempt of escape mute, and Morgana had drifted away, even when filthy hands pinned her down, and the muffled laughter punctuated every thrust of a strange cock into her. When lowered down again, she would fall against the wall, shivering with the cold and the horrible feeling of needles prickling at her skin, the filthy between her legs only disappearing when she forced herself to kill whatever could take root while Aithusa groaned and cried into the night.

_Don't…_ She wanted to ask,

_Don't cry for me, please, it's gonna be fine…_

Falling to her knees the young woman vomited on the floor, her skin shivering with a new layer of sweat as she heaved and sought the moving shape of her love. But she wasn't there.

_Aithusa!_

_"Breathe_ _ e _ _ child." _ Spoke a new voice in her mind breaking through the fog of the past. _ "Breath__e _ _ , in and out, don't be afraid." _

_I'm not afraid!_ She wanted to shout at the woman. Nonetheless she followed her advice, breathing with the woman's gentle words, using her like a mantra. Feeling her lungs finally working again, Morgana rubbed her eyes and resisted the urge to run away from there.

_She is not here._ She told herself, gritting her teeth. _I should have thought better than jumping down this hell hole._

When Morgana finally found the strength to get back to her feet and walk, the woman had her head raised, revealing a crinkled motherly face, smiling and calm.

_ "Are you well?" _

_"Yes"_ Her answer had more bite than Morgana intended, but the woman didn't seem to mind.

_"So, you actually came child, I was beginning to fear it had been only a dream."_

Morgana stopped short while investigating the chains. _ "You knew I would come?" _ Covered in runes and blood magic, she knew they were powerful enough to contain weak sorcerers, but she was never weak enough.

_"I had a vision, yes. A shadow taking my people away from the darkness."_

Cleaning her mouth, she muttered a spell with the taste of bile bitter in her tongue. The first chain broke. _ "That sounds more ominous than hopeful." _

_"It does, doesn't it?"_ The woman grinned, yellow teeth, filled with amusement. _ "I always wondered about that, I think visions would be terribly dull without some vague menacing words around, fate must have a sense of humor." _

_"Fate put you and your people under pain and torture." F_ate made her broken

_"It brought you here as well."_

_"I doubt that."_ She finally finished the incantation and felt the weight of a body falling on her arms, her hands touched something warm and thick on her back and the woman whimpered. _ "Don't worry, I can take care of that." _

_"It's only pain child, I fear leaving this place might be more important than a lengthy healing spell."_

_"It will only be a _ moment. _ " _ Morgana whispered the words carefully. Healing spells were difficult to manage and any lapse of her concentration might endanger a muscle or ligament. As she did so, she felt her bracelet warming to the point it could've burned anyone who touched and, slowly, the wounds begun to scar. _ "What is your name? _"

_"Jidarr."_

_"You'll be fine Jidarr, now let's get you out of here."_

Luckily the hole was not warded against magic and quickly Morgana vanished and reappeared atop of the living graves, lying Jidarr gently on the ground. Around her, she could already see druids helping extract their friends. The moon was still high in the sky, and Morgana looked over the ridged walls. Still no alarm whatsoever, that was good, it would benefit an idea she had started to think about.

"Jidarr, are you all right?" The man from before knelled by his leader, the woman nodded.

"I am, my son, it seems fate has smiled at us today." Jidarr's now visible blue eyes looked at Morgana, who felt herself shivering. "You don't like that word?"

"I hate it."

Morgana could feel the magic moving in Jidarr's core as she looked upon her, her eyes seemed clearer. "Yes, I see now why I saw a shadow, there is much inside you that is hidden and much more that is scarred. Perhaps we might help you."

"I'm not seeking help." Morgana replied.

"No." Jiddar sounded sad. "You seek blood."

"How can you tell?"

"I can see auras, yours glows now like a roaring fire, stinking of foul intentions."

Now Morgana couldn't help but smirk, the old woman had no idea. "Wouldn't that be something good, if I can get rid of the Sarrum?"

Jidarr shrugged. "The Sarrum is only one man, he has children, family, loyal lords, soldiers and a people that have been lied to for many, many years. Killing him would hardly bring peace to Amata."

Morgana clenched her fists. Luckily at that moment, Accolon climbed out of the hole, holding a little girl in his arms who as playing around with his long hair while he blushed in embarrassment.

"E-everyone is out, my lady."

_Good, more time here and I might have thrown the woman back down there._

* * *

Morgause was pacing.

She couldn't keep herself still as the moon gained ground and the stars shined over the sky under the songs of crickets and a very stubborn owl. There was a distinct squeeze inside her chest while she contemplated her sister's lateness. Around her, the ten members of the Blood Guard that stayed behind were still as statues, and that seemed to only add to her discomfort.

"They should be here by now" She muttered, not really expecting an answer, the guard only spoke when spoken to.

Inwardly she tried to think back to her home, the Isle of the Blessed, where magic was strong and the shredded remains of her people remained in relative peace, but not even that was enough to squish the dreadful thoughts polluting her perception. They were in Amata after all, taken there by her sister's insistence, and there was not one sorcerer alive who didn't know about the Sarrum's hate of magic.

What if her sister was captured? What if she was discovered and killed? Surely she would feel if Morgana was hurt, but then again, her sister was changed, different, more powerful since waking from her strange vision.

Maybe her worries were for nothing.

She had thought the same back at Camelot, thinking nothing would ever matter more than Uther's destruction, but the sight of her sister's unconscious body was still enough to make her flee.

Morgause lowered her gaze as if the Goddess could see her burning face. Family was not something she thought much about, ever since she was little, Morgause had been aware that her protection had been more important than a family. In the end, her fathers and mothers were Nimue and the remains of the Old Religion, her siblings had been fellow apprentices and learners, her love had been for the Goddess alone, and yet she had kept the bracelet that was her mother's all the same.

"My Lady, please calm yourself" The voice came from one of the guards, but she hadn't spoken to him, his advice was uncalled for. She spun around ready to scold the man when the sound of something approaching rose their camp.

At once the guard was on their feet, swords at hand, and Morgause readied herself for battle, only to see her sister's face emerging from the shadows... And she was not alone.

One by one they emerged from the tree line, men, women, and children, ragged and filthy, bearing hollowed cheekbones and haunted eyes.

"Don't worry, you're safe now, come" Her sister was saying, her voice gentle as she approached the guards. "See that they are cared for, quickly."

Morgause stood her ground as the Blood Guard moved to obey. An old plump woman was held by two men, while an old man brought about two small children by their hands, their tiny faces were brave despite the tears. Soon packs were open and small pieces of bread and dried meat were being offered around the fire while Morgause questioned her sister.

"What have you done?"

"They are druids and the Sarrum was going to execute them." Morgana explained stoically, and Morgause fumed.

"Couldn't you have waited until the man was dead?"

"He was torturing and impaling them one by one each day, I couldn't just leave them behind."

"You have any idea what could have happened? You could've been discovered, you will be, surely there will be soldiers coming after us now."

Morgana paused while looking into her knapsack, her shoulders tensing momentarily. "I did what I had to do."

"It was too dangerous."

"They needed help."

"They are not worthy."

"Everyone is worthy."

"Not as much as you!" Morgause didn't realize she had shouted until she felt the silence of the camp and the eyes falling on her, she didn't care. "When you insisted on coming this way, you told me you would be careful, remember? You told me there would be no risks! And there you go taking prisoners from under the Sarrum's nose! What if something happened to you?"

"Nothing happened" Morgana replied, that same icy face back in place, but now Morgause could see more as well, how her eyes were tired, her skin pale - more than usual - trembling. "Nothing happened and now we have the perfect way to get to the Sarrum as well."

_Liar._

Morgause frowned. "You were still careless."

A shrug was all she got as an answer.

Fuming, and still aware that the druids were watching their conversation she turned around and moved to a tree with her furs. If she knew having a sister was this tiresome she might have stayed in the Perilous Lands.

* * *

##################


	7. CRIMSON

**CRIMSON**

* * *

The change had been subtle, or perhaps she had only now become aware of it. It was only a normal morning when the drapes seemed to fall as suddenly and overwhelming as a dive into cold waters. The weary eyes, filled with resentment, the conversations that would cease the moment she appeared, and the small favors she was once blessed with now completely vanishing, all of it came to light before her eyes.

She never said a word about it of course, not to Arthur who now had a whole kingdom to look after, or to Merlin, who had an Arthur to look after. Guinevere would see to her duties and watch over Uther Pendragon, turning a deaf ear to the scant rumors running around. Her duty mattered much more, the kingdom mattered much more than the issues of a servant. She was still Guinevere through it all, and the words of kin and noble were never of her concern. So it was that as she watched her father's killer seeming dead to the world as he laid in bed, that she simply pulled his furs up to his chin, and waited for Gaius to arrive.

Sitting down by the chair, she picked up her sewing, the task a pleasant distraction. There was always a need for clothing, but for winter, that need grew three, four times perhaps, and every woman was commissioned pieces for the castle and the villages. Although she was already busy, running the castle and caring for the sick, she didn't mind the extra work to distract her mind. Watching the undershirt taking shape was enjoyable. She was so into it that she startled when the bed moved. Chestnut eyes darting to the king, she found him still asleep, the noises from his mouth sounding too much like whimpers. Disturbed by the obvious nightmare that she had no way of ending, she sucked the sting from her thumb and bend down to look for her needle, only for her hand to brush something thicker and colder under the bed.

Stilling herself, she hesitated briefly before curiosity spur her onward. Grasping at the object, Gwen slowly revealed it under the candle light, the gold glimmering under her eyes like tempting sins. It took a while for her to understand what she was holding, but eventually she did remember a feast in that same year, a celebration and a gift. It had been one of their last good times together.

Hand trembling, Gwen slowly traced the sharp blade with her thumb. As a blacksmith's daughter she knew fine work when she saw it, and this was nothing but. While the golden handle and the red hue around the filigree made for a fine spectacle, the blade was no simple finery. The steel was well forged and clean, and it probably kept its edge like very few works. It could probably stab through the gaps of an armor, it would certainly go through chain-mail with the proper strength. Beautiful and functional and well balanced, deadly.

She was still holding it when the knock came to the doors and after careful thought she slipped the dagger into her basket. When the old man walked in to keep his watch for the night, he greeted Gwen with a gentle smile, walking towards the bed with his potions already at hand. He seemed none the wiser.

"Hello, Gaius."

"Good evening, Gwen." She eyed the stuff he was carrying and her curiosity must've been obvious as he jumped to an explanation. "I thought of some other means to help the king. Hopefully some stimulant will do the work, it might have some effect on his disposition."

"You think he might recover soon?" Despite the optimism she would display in front of Arthur, Gwen was skeptical about it.

They had been cheered when Uther spoke weeks ago, asking after his son, but the words now seemed more like a miracle than a proof of recovery. Most days the king was more like a puppet, getting up when prompted, eating when prompted and even bathing at the instructions of others, and by others, she meant mostly herself, the prince's trustworthy servant. It was embarrassing at first, but Gwen was surprised to find she had grown used to most of it. Perhaps it was true that one could get used to anything in the proper time, even when her soul felt brittle and eager for hate.

"Considering he has spoken before and from what I've seen, he might." Gaius said, mixing his potion with warm milk. "It is actually a common enough illness, where people who have suffered great trauma will shut down from the world around them."

"An illness of the heart then?"

"Of the mind, to be more precise." Gwen nodded. Since she wasn't a physician herself she knew very little about the ways of the body, and so she abandoned her curious questions in fear they might sound silly. "You seem tired"

"Do I?" She smiled, and Gaius merely perked one of those wizened eyebrows. "I haven't had much time for myself, with Uther and everything. Yesterday I had to sent for workers, because staff was so overwhelmed. Not that I'm complaining."

"When was the last time you went home?"

She hesitated. "Not as long as you're implying I'm afraid."

"Go home, Gwen, everyone deserves some rest from the tasks of life."

It was as if the words had summoned her exhaustion all at once and she found herself yawning in front of the man. Suddenly, every argument she wanted to use vanished and she nodded. She retrieved her cloak and felt around her basket, the dagger was still there. Suddenly feeling more like a thief than herself, she took her leave, walking out of the chambers and down the halls. On the way she met a couple of girls scrubbing the floors, their voices silencing at her presence and then rising once she was out earshot. Blushing, she moved on, not really caring to know, but any thoughts of saying farewell to Arthur disappeared. At this time he was probably deep in conversation with his uncle, or probably stuck in the council chambers. Nothing she could do about it, she was tired and knew little of what meant to rule a kingdom. She walked to the kitchens instead, where Fal, the chief cook, was scowling down a pot.

"Did it do you any harm?"

"Gwen!" His face broke into a grin, and she felt not so alone anymore. "Not at all, I'm afraid one of the lads ruined this for me, too much salt."

"So you're trying to water it down?"

"That is my idea yes, would you like some?"

She shook her head. "I wouldn't want to impose."

"Nonsense, no one in Camelot will go hungry, I'll just pour some of it with your usual plate." He did so, pushing also a loaf of bread and a small piece of cheese, for witch she was grateful in thanking him. "You do well enough around here, this castle would be a mess without you taking charge."

"T-thanks, but I didn't do anything, the chief steward..."

"That dabbler wouldn't be able to find his own head if it wasn't attached to his neck, trust me, I know who has been given the orders." He winked motioning to the movement around him, where undercooks and cup-bearers went around the tasks of the days, many young people she had summoned from the village were hard at work there, cleaning dishes and watching the roasting meat. It all worked out, but she could only wonder how many had already heard about the scant servant that seduced the prince.

Outside, the skies were turning dark, a chilly air forced her to pull her cloak tight around her frame, clutching her basket and food at the same time.

Winter was approaching now, and soon the town would flood with newcomers, all wanting shelter and food from the castle stores. Arthur had been worried about supplies lately, she remembered, supplies and war, there always seemed to be war or people wanting war. Blinking, she huddled herself together for a moment, feeling the cold beginning to seep into her skin. Although Gaius had the best of intentions she was suddenly reminded of why she had no wish to go home.

The small house had not been warm and kind for a long time now, and as time passed, less and less she regarded the place as a sanctuary of safety and happiness that it had been in her childhood. Her father was dead, Elyan was a knight riding the fields and too busy for a quiet family night. Not long ago, she would be invited to dine with her lady, but that was also blown away by the dark wings of sorcery.

"Get in line peasant!" She followed the voice and was surprised to find a familiar face being pushed aside and away from the stable boy.

She knew that knight, of course. Sir Dommer was a burly man, tall and strong, who wore Camelot's colors as well any knight. He seemed irritated and angry though as he shoved his reins on the boy's hands and marched her way, not even bothering with her presence as he entered the fortress. On the snows, his own mount still waiting, Lancelot met her eyes and shrugged, his smile softening the gesture as he moved to care for his horse himself. She watched him with warm fascination and knew at least a little of what he must be feeling. He was just like her after all, a small person flying too high.

"It will get better soon."

"I wasn't really expecting it to be easy" He answered as he moved his mount to a lonely stall at the back, where he unloaded the animal. "I'm too low to be well regarded by the nobles and too high to be liked by the people."

"The people?"

"They'd rather trust the other knights than the ones without a family name." Lancelot still smiled. "They did start to change their minds when I saved their lives, but I'm not sure I can do that with the whole kingdom."

"You probably saved the whole kingdom by helping Arthur" She patted the horse lightly, as Lancelot made sure he was comfortable and fed. Only then he took his own belongings in hand. "Everyone knows you're the hero who destroyed the cup."

She thought he would be happy with the reminder, but Lancelot merely grimaced as if his heroics pained him. In that pause, Gwen took a moment to take him in, the unruly curls, weary eyes and a beard that obviously had not been taken care of. A closer look even showed the spots of blood still clinging to his clothes and armor.

"That will rust."

"I'll see to it in the morning, we've been riding since dawn and I'm starving."

"Of course." She stopped and had to think back to when she first met the man, noble and kind and eager for a bright future. "Would you like to eat with me?"

"What?"

"I was just going home, I have some broth from the kitchens." She raised her sewing basket, stopped, and changed for the pot of food so he could see it, blushing at her own clumsiness. "I would really like the company."

"I-I..." He stopped short, and Gwen found herself prodding.

"It would be a great discourtesy for a knight to let a woman walk home alone."

Lancelot smirked. "Now that is a clever trap, my lady."

"I'm not a lady."

His smile was kind, sort of exasperated, the same smile she had seen on Merlin's face when he thought Arthur was acting foolish. Somehow, Lancelot wore it much better, and much more respectfully.

Her home was dark and cold when they came to it, Lancelot having gallantly carried her things the short way there. Taking in the sight, Gwen studied the barred windows and door, while the forge that had once rung with her father's hammering was now empty. After her father's death, Uther had a new blacksmith brought into town, working with her father's tools and in her father's place. Both belonged to the king they told her, nothing was truly hers. She never harbored any ill towards the man though, his name was Colin, and he was polite and shy and, like many, he was now dead.

"You haven't been here in a while, have you?"

"Not really." Watching her home she knew right away that the floor needed to be swiped, the shelves dusted, and firewood gathered, but she had hardly any time to think about it.

Immediately, Lancelot moved to make a fire, and in instants she had bowls filled with a sweet-smelling food, thick with carrots, onions and chunks of meat, which they eat eagerly. It was awkward and strange at first, to have company for a meal again, but then Lancelot fell into a whole description of his adventures as a kid and soon enough, Gwen found herself laughing. She laughed because he fell into a lake for a single strawberry, she laughed when he chased a chicken down his village's main street. She laughed telling him about her adventures with Merlin and Arthur. Then he told her about the time he found a horse.

"You didn't."

"He was right out in the field, no one was around!"

"But if someone owned it."

"I know, but I just couldn't resist, not really. It was a horse, out in the open, do you know how much a horse costs? To a kid, it just seemed like the first step into a dream."

"I see, your mother must've had gray hairs all around the head."

He chuckled. "Only a few."

Blinking, Gwen forced her eyes to dart down to her empty bowl. Her house didn't feel so cold anymore, but maybe it was just the fire. "So, what happened to the horse?"

"My mother simply took him into town, he belonged to a knight who was traveling through. He had slept and forgot to tie it down."

"Did he gave you a reward?"

"Not really." He grimaced. "His reward was more like a scolding. He seemed angrier that we had touched the horse, than grateful that we found him. He threatened to hang my mother for theft before our elder intervened."

"I'm so sorry." She said but he just shook his head.

"It doesn't matter, it served so I would know what kind of knight I wanted to become." Gwen refrained from adding anything, but in her mind she imagined a small boy, wincing before a man's harsh voice, his thoughts wandering into a silent vow of his own.

She saw his eyes going to his sword, and she saw the spots of blood forming a crust around the blade. Getting up, she took his bowl and wandered. "So, you wanted to be a knight even before..." She trailed off, not wanting to bring back memories. She knew his story, knew the tragedy of his life, but Lancelot didn't seem to mind.

"A part of it I suppose, at the time it was a boy's dream, but after losing my village, well, it became a man's duty."

"A man's duty" Gwen smiled. "Morgana once told me that a man's duty was only a fancy way to keep women away from the fun."

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling enveloped in wrinkles, but remembering her friend made her eyes fall to the ground. "You miss her?"

Gwen shook her head. "I failed her."

"How so?"

She opened her mouth, but the words never came, she only knew that somehow her friend had fallen to the evil of magic and sorcery right under her nose, and by the time she realized what was happening she had been too afraid to do anything. It was too late, she kept telling herself, shivering because in her memories she was being dragged by armored guards and Morgana was smirking at her. Maybe the rumors about her weren't the reason she was so bothered, or maybe it was all at once. She thought of the dagger she found not a moment ago and suddenly everything came tumbling down into her mind.

"You say it is a man's duty to bear the killing and the fighting, well, then what would you say is a woman's duty?" She asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "When I first came to Camelot, I was so scared. I was young then, barely of age. I have no idea how my father arranged such a thing, but one day I was brought to Uther and he bestowed upon me to look after his ward. I was instructed by the chief steward and presented to her. I had no idea what to expect, I was afraid she would reject me, but she just took my hands and smiled."

"She was very charming."

"She was." Gwen admitted. "Before I knew it, I was telling her what I liked to do, how I watched my father on the forge and how I played with my dolls, and yet when I saw her magic the first thing I did was tell Gaius. I didn't talk to her, I didn't try to, I saw something dangerous and did something about it."

"I think you put too much blame on yourself, my lady."

"And you don't, sir?"

Lancelot cocked his head to the side. He touched the pads of his fingers over his sword and licked his lips. "The men we were sent after, they were desperate men, and those, I suppose, are more dangerous than common evil. They were hungry and scared, but after trying to help them I also learned that they wouldn't surrender and would keep hurting people."

"You killed them." She surmised, without judgment or damnation. Death was not something she balked at. Many times she was a victim of it, many times she had seen executions and many times she had seen Lancelot and Arthur killing. Now she wondered.

"Killing is hard, it should be hard. The father of my village used to call it an evil act. I don't think it stops being an evil act no matter how you justified it, and yet sometimes it is necessary." He took the sword, and Gwen watched the crusts of blood slowly falling away from the steel as he cleaned it up. "Sometimes there are bad people in the world, people who won't change and that insist on doing harm or using their power for evil. When that happens, we have to stand our ground and take their lives. I think it's part of being a knight, to bear that burden when needed."

"It seems a heavy one, for any heart."

"It can be, but if your intentions are noble, if your reasons are good, then we can overcome it." He turned to her. "So you just have to think, did you do the right thing? Do you regret it? And more important, can you bear it?"

* * *

Sybil of Amata had grown up in a house with two young brothers, and so, she had known from a young age that at some point she would be offered to someone else to be married and bear children. Her husband would be a knight, a lord, someone wealthy and powerful, and she would stand at his shadow overseeing his castle and spreading her legs whenever he called upon her.

It was her destiny, and it had been written long before she could walk and speak, and Sybil had known she would fulfill it to the best of her abilities.

As it happens, knowing your destiny and following it were two very different matters, something she understood the first time the Sarrum of Amata laid eyes on her from his honorable seat, right by her father's side. She was on the cusp of her seventeenth summer when he took her hand in marriage, stumbling to her bed, sweaty, flushed and dark-eyed, entering her and finishing before she felt anything more than fear and cold.

Now, it was early morning and she had just come from her son's chambers with something terrifying coiled deep in her guts. She allowed her maids to dress her, barely paying attention, but she noticed they were choosing her gold velvet gown, trimmed with snakes that run down her arms as if afraid of what her face might do. Her hair was stuck into a long braid, under a dark iron tiara that was the symbol of her position. When ready, she slowly walked down the stairs, not out of fear but to gain time and keep her composure as she passed long bleak hallways which seemed to beg for light, quietly entering the great hall.

The Sarrum of Amata, Guardian of the Land, Bane of Sorcerers and her husband was sitting upon his high seat, with his eyes looking down from the clouds of a storm.

She knew of the man who was shaking, held tight by two soldiers in front of the Sarrum. His begging was almost impossible to understand as he shuddered and stuttered on his knees. From the corner, a bare-chested man wearing a long hooded mask approached. The begging turned into whining as the Captain's hand was seized and stretched over the block. Pursing her lips, Sybil idly wondered where the days had gone when watching a man screaming because of his missing limb would've shocked her, but rarely something shocked her these days, not since the first time she watched the Sarrum decorating his walls.

"Has any news come from the search parties?"

"No, my king" Albin, more like a dog than a person, answered. "It's still early to tell though, the prisoners had a night and a whole morning as a head start."

"And my captain has already received the just punishing for his failure." The Sarrum pointed out. "It is imperative that the prisoners are brought back and we find the responsible for this. I won't tolerate the foul stench of magic intruding in these lands."

"It won't happen, my king"

Inwardly Sybil both pitied and hated the young lad. Her husband's interest in him was born from his displeasure with his own child, something she had no idea how to remedy at all or if she even should, considering the many bruises Albin had taken instead of her son.

"My king." She spoke as the hall fell silent, her face schooled to show nothing but deference. "May I have words?"

She watched him studying her, perhaps wondering what she was doing far from her chores, or maybe not. It was always hard to tell with the man, but the fact that he didn't rebuff her publicly didn't go over her. As she followed him to a secluded corner away from the guards, she remembered his wrath that morning, something she had heard from her private chambers. Having a whole clan of druids escaping had done her no favors, and yet, Sybil felt unable to stop at that point.

"I've come from speaking to our son." She stated. "I came to question you about his arm."

"The lad was a complete failure."

"How so?" Sybil knew she was pushing now, her husband disliked being questioned, but answers needed to be given. She needed to know.

"I wanted to put him on the patrol sent to apprehend the prisoners, but your son had the audacity of questioning my orders, worst, he dared suggest mercy."

"And for that, you broke his arm?"

Sybil was doing everything to rein in her emotions, as her husband scoffed. "If anything the pain will bring the boy some metal, perhaps he might finally show some guts in the training yard. His suffering will teach him."

She looked away, so he wouldn't see how his words affected her as she remembered her other children. Her eldest, luckily, had always been good with sword and spear to be left alone, and these days he was away, sailing his own ship against the saxons. Her daughter was gone as well, safe in a keep of her own, but her youngest was a sweet thing, who enjoyed embroidery and singing and Sybil felt stupid for not seeing this day coming.

"Perhaps we might find him a suitable tutor then." She suggested, knowing the matter would fall to his steward, and she might even have a say on it if the Sarrum gets too distracted impaling some poor soul. "Someone to make him into a suitable prince."

Maybe it had been something in her tone, maybe she slipped, or maybe he had simply woken up in a far more unreasonable mood than usual, but when she saw his calculating smirk making an appearance, Sybil felt cold.

"Perhaps you're right, my wife, perhaps it is time for our youngest son to have a proper education. I shall see to it personally."

Sybil licked her lips, she feared a punishment now, she feared she might have to retreat to her chambers with a bruise, and yet she spoke all the same. She didn't know what she would speak, but she would try anyway, and so she called his name, froze under his scrutiny and heard the hurried steps of the stewards coming their way.

"My king, one of the patrols has returned, they have a prisoner with them."

The Sarrum didn't turn around. "One prisoner?"

"A witch, sire."

Sybil watched his delight and frustration, all swirling together into a dangerous mix as her husband turned away from her with a scowl, giving the orders that the woman be properly shackled and brought inside at once. For her part, Sybil remained in the shadows, watching her husband climbing the steps to his throne as the heavy oak doors were parted to let in the men of Amata.

His patrol was tattered, she saw at once, their clothes were covered in blood, hiding the snake sigil on their chests, and their numbers few. The guards themselves were weary of the procession, while Perwen, the captain of the guards, stood at the foot of the dais, signaling a stop. The men parted, and amidst them stood a woman, shackled with those special chains her husband was so proud of. Once, long ago, when she was still naive about her boundaries, she had questioned his use of blood magic to retain his prisoners, wondering about the hypocrisy of it and that had cost her a tooth.

"My king." The leader of the patrol said, his voice muffled by the helmet, neither he nor his men seemed familiar to her, but she always made a point of knowing newcomers, to learn if they would be allies or not. "We bring you the sorceress who claims to have freed the prisoners."

"Well done, sir." The Sarrum commended now. "How did you find her?"

"We came upon them in the woods, the fools lit a fire to ward off the cold. The witch sent the druids away my king and stayed behind to fight us. As you see she took down many men before we could overwhelm her."

"You did well and shall be properly rewarded, I assure you." The Sarrum said, turning now to the prisoner. "So, witch, what do you have to say for yourself?"

The witch's eyes darted around the room, a clear shiver passing through her body. She was barefooted and in rags, her hair a tangled mess that more resembled a bird's nest. Judging by her appearance, Sybil didn't need to think about what the men might have done, for a closer look told her the woman was beautiful, with green pale eyes widening when she pursed her lips. Strange eyes.

"You have defiled my will, freed my prisoners, but I still might show you mercy if you deliver the rest of the druids." The Sarrum said, trying to sound calm through the lie.

"Y-you promise?" The woman asked, rubbing her hands together.

"I'm a man of my word." At the small nod, the Sarrum leaned forward resting his elbows above his knees. The witch's hands kept rubbing together, almost seamlessly as she whispered something, something that made Sybil frown. "Come again? Where did you say they are?"

Sybil stepped back because suddenly she realized what was wrong, she realized that her strangeness was because she saw no fear in those eyes at all, nothing at least. Before she could shout a warning though, the witch's hands suddenly stopped rubbing together. Sybil felt a pulse of heat blinding her for a moment and when she recovered, it was only to see one of the guards covered in flames, his screams rising around the room as he threw himself on the ground in despair, his hair and skin melting from his bones while his eyes boiled in the sockets.

Sybil only barely realized she was screaming, falling on her arse and crouching until the wall hit her back.

"Take her!" Her husband shouted, recovering from the shock and the search party drew their swords, but instead of striking the witch they drove their weapons through the guard, hacking and slashing at her husband's protectors.

Sybil saw Albin leaping to the fray, the youth going straight at the woman who was banging the doors shut with a wave of her hands, when one man stepped between them, his sword raised to parry the first strike, then the second. Then the witch raised her hand and her husband's pet was sent flying against the wall. There was a noise like crackling wood when his body hit the stone, and he fell, leaving behind a trail of crimson on the gray stone.

Unsheathing his own blade now, the Sarrum gritted his teeth and got ready to fight. "Guards! GUARDS!" he shouted hoarse as the fight abated, soon his men were all dead, and the search party was closing in on his sides, their helmeted faces turning his way, but never moving.

"Don't worry, no one is listening to you, my lord." The witch spoke mockingly, the words sending a chill through Sybil as her eyes darted for the door.

"Who are you?"

"Me?"

The sound of her chuckle made her stop, her hands grasping the door handle which refused to open. Turning around, Sybil found she had little choice but to watch over her shoulder as the witch lowered herself on the ground and picked up Albin's sword, the edge of her dress soaking in the blood. "I'm your reckoning, sire, taken form to punish your sins."

The Sarrum of Amata laughed, her husband. "Sins? And what would those be?"

"The torture and murder of innocents for starters."

"You're talking about those aberrations and their so-called magic, am I right? The filthy that shares your heresy." Sybil felt the wood being pounded from the other side and stepped back, someone was coming, they would knock the door down and save them. "Those were not sins, and I'm sure I'll be rewarded in the afterlife."

"Not sins? Oh, but they were, and there are so many others. The way you treat your people, neglecting their needs, starving them and leaving them in poverty." Her voice was so cold, Sybil wondered if there was ice filling her insides. "As for your supposed reward, well, I hope it is enough to take you beyond our little time together without falling to madness."

"Try me, whore."

The witch threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this."

The door was still shaking on its hinges, but it showed no signs of opening. In the back of her mind she thought about magic and felt a knot of cold fear taking over. The witch would kill them, she and her husband, and then her son. Looking back into the throne room, she watched the searching party as they moved to form a circle around the witch and the Sarrum.

"What is this? What are you doing?"

"I thought you would feel more comfortable if our duel was properly overseen." The woman said, ripping the side of her dress so her legs could move.

"A duel? Against a filthy cheating sorceress?"

"If it makes any difference to you, I promise not to use my magic."

Sybil of Tir Mor was not a proud woman.

She had been sold in exchange for swords, ships and promises, her fate was decided from the moment she was born and in her marriage she learned the proper way to hide her feelings, to hide any wounds, seen or not. Now, as she watched her husband hesitating, and the gleam of those pale green eyes, she also recognized her only chance of survival. Swallowing her fear, she walked on trembling legs, throwing herself to her knees outside the ring of men. They jumped as if surprised by her presence, but Sybil didn't let her emotions show.

"Please, spare the people in the castle, I beg of you!"

She knew sorcerers were never to be trusted. It was taught to her from childhood, to stay away from the sinners who thought themselves gods in this world. Demons in human flesh, drunk on their power, and yet, in the silence that followed, the only insults came from her husband.

"You bitch, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

She ignored him. "I'm the lady of this castle, I can give commands to lay down weapons and open doors. Please, allow me to surrender the castle, don't harm anyone."

She held her breath, waiting, perhaps for her skin to burn, perhaps for the touch of a blade, and then… "Bors, take her to my sister, tell her there will no need to fight."

A man disengaged from the ring, and Sybil felt herself being pulled to her feet, not unkindly. The witch's eyes were distant as if she wasn't even alive in this world, only her silent husband seemed to matter. She mumbled her thanks anyway, courtesies couldn't do any harm.

"You'll regret this, woman!" The Sarrum barked, and Sybil hoped more than ever that her decision was right, even as she walked towards the great doors, her husband's parting words echoing at her back. "You as well, whore."

She could hear the smirk on the witch's voice "Perhaps."

As the doors closed at her back, Sybil heard a distinguished chant and the following scream of her husband, something visceral in its suffering and pain. It seemed the witch had lied about not using her magic. When another scream followed it was more animal than human. Sybil couldn't bring herself to care, but sent a prayer to heavens all the same.

_May God have mercy on his soul._

* * *

##################


	8. AFTERMATH

**AFTERMATH**

* * *

When he was very young, just learning how to use a sword in combat, Accolon had been taught his prayers and the comfort of the Goddess. The words should be repeated every night before sleep and every day by morning, no matter how tired, wounded or busy he might be.

That morning was not different.

He knelt before his bed and clutched his sword in his bare hands, embracing the smooth feeling of the leather covered handle. The original warrior-priests had their handles made from the Rowan Tree, but his was simple oak. He was proud of it nonetheless. When his prayers were finished, simple as they might be, Accolon blinked, rising from his knees. Slowly, he put on his shirt and his mail, then tied the laces of his outer coat, bringing the hood and the mask up to hide his features. The warrior priests didn't have faces, after all. They had no names or identities. They served and that was all.

At least, that was how it was supposed to be.

For three nights now the young priest stood guard in front of his mistress' door, as many times as he could. The Bloodguard had been sworn to her protection, and the High Priestess wouldn't admit nothing more than perfection while her sister recovered.

It had been three days since Lady Morgana had been put in those chambers and only Lady Morgause could enter. His last memory her had been of a small woman, huddled atop of a throne in front of a pool of blood and gore, the last he heard her voice was when she chanted merciless spells meant for pain and suffering.

In all his years sworn to the order, Accolon had never seen such a horrid affair.

Lady Morgana had smiled upon defying the Sarrum to a duel, mocking him at every turn. He remembered shaking when she finally took his hands, and then gulping when his groin had exploded in blood. At that moment, the man had been nothing but a sobbing mess, screaming his pain through his own hall, under the cold green eyes of his executioner, whose chuckles and smiles had turned silent and cold as the ordeal went on. Now, it was almost as if the monster had gone away, leaving an empty shell behind, a shell that sat by the window and watched the sun. Of course, Accolon knew better than to think a monster had done that, at the least from what little he knew of the Lady Morgana.

It had started in that day when she asked for his sword, and then asked for his ability, as meager as it was, to practice her fighting. He was not the best fighter of course, his brothers were all better and the life of a warrior priest was hardly made only of battle and war, although Uther Pedragon had closely made it so.

He could remember him falling in the dirty, after receiving a kick to his chins, and her chuckle above him. "You remind me of someone I knew, he had this same problem you have, always thinking your opponent thinks like you."

Confusion must have shown on his face.

"When you're facing your opponents, you're not thinking about what they might do, you're thinking about what you would do in their place. After I realized that, it became easy to beat you, haven't you noticed?" He had nodded shyly, avoiding her eyes and remembering his latest defeats. "You're wondering how I learned to fight."

He took a new fighting stance and nodded as she did the same.

"Well, when I was little I always wanted to be a knight, you see? My father used to read many stories about them and I loved every and each one, although it was always infuriating that they were all men." A movement, a faint, he could see now that she was right, he was wondering about his next move, instead of hers. He had to learn about her if he hoped to be any good. "Naturally, my favorite story was about the Knight of the Lake, it was an old tale, about a young girl using a magical armor that granted her many abilities."

He lazily circled around her, falling into a rhythm as she parried his blows.

"Of course, women couldn't be knights. I was always afraid I would never be allowed to be one, but my father, he just smiled at me. I had forgotten how handsome he was when he smiled, how gentle." She stepped aside, and they made a pause, her eyes seeming truly happy as she remembered. "A knight protects the weak. A knight gave out justice and truth. A knight should be brave. He told me that if I were to be all those things, he saw no reason why I couldn't be one."

She looked down, brushing a coal lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't think he expected me to follow that path though, my father, I think he might have thought it a child's whims. Be that as it may, he did find me a sword and someone to teach me. I practiced everyday until he died and I came to Camelot, then Uther forbid it altogether. I had to do it in secret."

"Alone?" The question caught him by surprise as much as it did her. It wasn't the content, but the fact that he had let it out of his lips in the first place.

"No, an arrogant idiot used to help me out, the one with the same problem you have."

"Oh..."

"He also would let his guard down" And before Accolon could do anything, he was on the ground again, with the Lady's laughter filling his ears as he looked into the night skies.

Not all of their encounters had gone that well of course.

One night, after exchanging harsh words with her sister, he had been battered to the ground and gained bruises that ached for days. He was used to bruises though. On the day before the killing of the Sarrum, she did almost the same, except she knelt by his side at the end with an expression he couldn't read on her face.

"Stand still" and hearing the command he did just that, watching her lips, cracked from the cold, whispering the words of the healing spell. Her eyes had glowed and her bracelet warmed, before every tiny scrap of pain disappeared from his body. "That should be enough."

"T-thank you."

Lady Morgana had stopped, nodded over her shoulder and then disappeared.

Now, Accolon was walking to the high tower to stand vigil, until he came upon one of his brothers. Bors ordered him to the Sarrum's solar and, without question, he obeyed, standing there alone until the High Priestess Morgause came in. She was followed by a elegant middle aged woman, wearing a dark red gown, and a ruby net above her graying hair. The same woman that Lady Morgana had let go on that horrid day and who negotiated the castle's surrender.

"Lady Sybil" Morgause greeted the woman who used to be the Sarrum's wife. What she received in return was a barely seen tilt of the head. "Don't worry, you won't be killed."

"I would hope so, considering I made a deal concerning my life." The woman answered. "After the rumors about what happened to my husband, I started wondering when my time would come."

"You don't sound so sad."

Accolon blinked, watching the woman from under his hood, her posture was as stiff as a log, but nothing in her demeanor told him she was grieving. Indeed, the Queen of Amata's answer was the lifting of an eyebrow.

"I don't think anyone could love that man, anyone but my eldest that is. Our marriage was a convenience, my father wanted Tir Mor's borders to be safe, the Sarrum wanted our boats, it was easy to see where the negotiations would go."

"So you don't mind that he was killed by blood lusted witches?"

She blinked, as composed as a statue, not offering an answer. "I received assurance that the household would remain safe."

"And I shall honor that, despite what you may think of my kind." Maybe Lady Morgause could read auras or something, because she was the picture of confidence, sitting in the chair by the fire. For Accolon, Lady Sybil seemed like a person used to hide her thoughts. "Well, since that is dealt with, I would like to talk about the future."

"Has Amata called its vassals yet?"

"No quite" Morgause answered, offering a cup of wine. The Queen declined. "You see, we've been good in keeping everything tied up so far, the news of your husband's death is currently traveling by horse in the best case. The fact is, we came here to kill your husband, and we did that, and now, I need your reputation and leadership."

"Really?" The Queen seemed surprised.

"Really, I need you to write some letters for me, declaring you ascendance to the throne of Amata after the tragic incident that befell your husband."

"You wish to delay they going after you, you a clean escape." The Queen declared and Lady Morgause didn't care to hide it. After a pause, the woman nodded. "Very well, I shall write your letters, if you guarantee the safety of my children, the staff and the village and if you swear to leave my lands immediately."

"Done."

And as Accolon watched the two woman shaking hands, he wondered what he should do in the small break he would have before his guard of lady Morgana.

He traveled the hallways slowly.

Lady Morgause had used the repaired Rowan Staff to take on the castle, but without its power the place felt unnaturally empty. Heading straight to the library, Accolon stumbled upon a frail looking man, his skinny lanky build shaking at his approach. Accolon did his best not to laugh, it would be improper after all. He had been taught to never look down upon a man, since he himself was a servant, but still, it was funny watching the man hurrying to do his bidding.

Later, he knocked on the closed door and entered.

As usual, Lady Morgana was looking outside the window, still wearing her bloodied gown. He wondered if she even cared at that point and he hoped she did. The Lady intrigued him in how much she could change from a moment to the next. His heart beating extremely loud, Accolon deposited the book on the table by her side, bowed deeply and moved away.

He exited the room and stood in his post until the light of morning crested over the hills.

* * *

The chambers must've belonged to someone important, but that was as far a Morgana could bring her thoughts.

She remembered something similar long ago, when Uther died and she felt his pain and the utter emptiness that his death brought her. This was not the same, but the Sarrum's scream still curled around her guts like a poisonous snake.

And so she sat down by the window, feeling the wind and the sun and immersing herself in that small moment where she could feel nothing. In the horizon, the rising sun painted Amata in a dozen different colors, almost making that horrible country look beautiful, but that was not what she was looking for. No, she was looking for answers, answers to questions that left her awake at night, but she didn't mind that. The nightmares were worse. She had thought that killing the Sarrum would bring her peace, but the aftermath left only the lingering taste of blood in her tongue and a fleeting joy that disappeared as soon as she realized the extension of her wrath.

Every time she closed her eyes, she would see red, the red of the blood seeping into the floor, the red splattering against her rags, the red that took her vision and allowed her to break bones with a tilt of her head.

Grimacing, her eyes darted towards the book atop the table, her hand moving to touch the old leather and golden letters, wondering if the words inside would feel as truthful as they did in her childhood. She was still thinking about it when the door opened and her sister came in.

"Good morning" She answered, watching Morgause sitting in a chair by her side.

"How are you feeling?"

Morgana felt an urge to laugh at the question. "You're wondering if I'm still here? Fret not, dear sister, my mind is still my own, I don't exactly feel amazing though"

"That I could've guessed."

Morgana watched her sister for a moment, the bags under her eyes and her pursed lips, feeling a stab of guilty. She remembered how lost she felt after the kill, how she had wished for nothing more than to curl into herself and hide from the world. She still wished for it.

"I don't know exactly what that man did to you, but after looking through his books, I can take a wild guess" Morgause said, tentatively, almost afraid. "You did the right thing."

She blinked.

It had been a few days and still, the rage boiled and squirmed inside her like an angry beast. His death had not erased it, nor had it quenched it. If she allowed it, the memories of his hands would still be there, the hunger, and thirsty, the violation, they were ingrained in her mind forever, and yet, hearing those words from Morgause caused her to stop short of answering.

_You did the right thing._

_Did I?_ She questioned, softly, coldly._ What had been right? The part where I made him scream? The part where he was sobbing? Or the part where I took his life? Was it right that I made him suffer?_ She shivered, and suddenly it was like her father was watching her from beyond, his face engulfed in shadows so she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

_What am I thinking?_

_...killing things mends a broken heart?_

And suddenly, she wasn't within those chambers with Morgause, but in a forest, condemned by a man with blue eyes, in a throne room, cutting her ties for the last time. Suddenly, Mordred was walking away from her, and betrayal became the air she breathed. _Don't worry dear brother, I won't let you die alone. I'll stay and watch over you, till the wolves gorge in your carcass and bathe in your blood. _When did the sight of blood begun to please her?

"I still remember when I got this." Her sister's voice pulled her away from the memories, to find that she was referring to their mother's bracelet. "It was at night. I remember it was night. Winter had come and the goddess had sent a fever to end my life."

"What are you talking about?"

Morgause pursed her lips. "In your other world, did I ever tell you about our mother?"

Morgana turned away, keeping her back to her sister. In her newly gained memories she could see the gentle woman above her crib, a smile crinkling the skin beside her eyes. Her voice had been soft, like velvet. _Goodbye, little fairy, _she would say_. _Tentatively, Morgana let the memory go. "You told me she was kind."

"She was, or at least that was what I was told." There was dry humor painting her sister's voice. "In truth, I only met her for half a night."

It was with a long, baited breath, that Morgana let the pause settle between then, never asking and yet hoping that Morgause would continue. After a while, she did.

"At the time, my mistress was raising me to become a priestess, teaching me all the secrets and ways in which to keep the Old Religion alive. We would practice and study everyday, never settling in one place for long." A pause, a beat. "She took me to visit Helva once, it was pretty, I never saw a place where magic was practiced in the open. That was before I learned anyone using magic there was basically a slave, working for protection."

Morgana remembered Helva, bits of pieces of her own attack on the city, painted with blood and restless questions.

"It was there that I caught a fever, something that couldn't be healed. The will of the Goddess, my mistress called. I spent days in bed, burning and shitting water. I thought my death was certain until she arrived." Morgana fidget, wondering if her new memories would match the date. "My mistress had sent a message, and as a result this strange woman came to us. She came to my side, she spoke to me, about love, about duty and about a dream, where I would have a family again. Where I would live in a world free, where I wouldn't need to run. I don't remember much else, but I do remember her and my mistress screaming at each other. It was only when I got better that I learned she had used the Cup of Life."

A soft silence fell upon them, loaded with questions and hurt that neither had allowed themselves to feel in a long time. When Morgana turned to gaze upon her sister, the blond inhaled a shuddering breath. "When you accused me of leaving you, I know how that feels like. Our mother came to me in my time of need, and then she left. It was only in the following morning that I was told of her identity, and I never felt so hurt. I really wished to never think about it again."

"Morgause..."

"I don't regret my choices, in this world or the old one. I can't, but I do want you to know that I love you, no matter what."

"I know."

Was her sister asking forgiveness? For what? Morgana doubted she was even worthy of giving such thing, but she took Morgause's hand anyway.

_Would mother have approved of what I did?_ She thought glancing at her sister whose eyes were pooling with tears, raw and pure and, suddenly, Morgana wanted to cry as well. She wanted to cry for the little girl she had been, and the little girl that Morgause had been. For the little boy that grudgingly danced with her in Camelot, so long ago, and would offer his sword to spar in secret, when there nothing but them and the moon and a slumbering castle. She wanted to cry for split families and broken friendships. She wanted to cry because she was so horribly tired, and horribly sad. She cried because she might be a monster, when she had always wanted to be anything but.

_I love you so much_. Her mother spoke from the fog of her memories. A hand caressed her cheek, it was big and warm, and her smile never wavered._ I don't think I will be there to watch you grow, but by the Goddess, I give you my blessing in whatever your future hold, and my eternal love. Goodbye, little fairy._

On her table, the book remained closed, the sigil of the Knight of the Lake bathed in morning light.

* * *

##################


	9. LOOK AHEAD

**LOOK AHEAD**

* * *

Lady Elaine's keep was nothing more than an old roman house built up with wood and stone. It stood like a bloated uneven fortress by the river-bend, surrounded by a tall palisade and a village of short stunted hovels.

Leading her column of riders through the main street, Morgana allowed herself to study the reaction to her arrival. Wide eyes stared at her from each and every corner, women made a sign against evil, children stopped playing, and men clenched their fists at their passage. She knew they were expected, riders had seen their approach a whole day ago and she would be foolish not to be wary of traps, but the reaction from the commoners still brought up a bitter sort of resignation. Looking behind her, the sorceress watched Accolon and the eleven other blood guards tailing her with a measure of assurance. With her magic, she was sure they could beat anything Lady Elaine could throw at them, but the idea of fighting had began to loose its appeal in recent days.

She didn't need more enemies. She had plenty of those already, both around her and in her mind.

As it turns out, fighting might be the last thing the noble woman would want as well. Riding through the village and under the portal, her party was greeted by a score of green boys and old men, clutching their weapons close inside a thin line of shields. In front of them stood also a lanky steward, who bowed warily towards her.

"I'm here to have words with your lady." Morgana declared without pause.

The steward nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice, but to his credit, he didn't back away. "M-my Lady Elaine will receive you alone, under the rights of hospitality."

The rights of hospitality. It was a protection that depended a lot on the people involved these days, but a custom that both the Old and New religion seemed to relay on. Knowing that, Morgana worded her promise of safety loud and clear. When that was done she nodded towards her guards, climbing down from her saddle and steadying her feet after the long journey.

Following the steward inside the keep, Morgana became even more aware of its mixed origin. From the pale smooth masonry, to the broken pictures and decorated stone floors, everything showed the signs of the mighty empire that was said to once rule over Albion. She remembered very well of times when Uther complained about the difficult in reproducing theses constructions. Camelot itself had been raised with magic long ago, but after the purge her guardian spent years trying to mimic the romans.

Finally, Morgana passed through a hallway covered with wooden walls and through a portal of high columns, into what she thought once might have been a open yard. Now it was serving as a great hall with a high furze roof sustained by thick beams of recently cut wood. Almost shyly, she was escorted between empty tables, under torches and animal skulls, with Lady Elaine's blue ox glaring at her from the surcoat of her guards. The Lady herself stood above a high chair, wearing a thick wool dress, heavy fur cloak and leather gloves, with one of her hands resting on a splint. The only jewelry she wore was a heavy silver chain around her neck and, contrary to what Morgana expected, she was not an old woman, in fact, she could be Morgana's age, with plump cheeks and shrewd eyes.

"Lady Elaine" Morgana greeted, offering a courtesy.

"Lady Morgana, daughter of Gorlois" The noble said, her tone causing Morgana to purse her lips. "Or is it Uther now? Many rumors have been traveling across the land this past month."

"And I would be glad to shed light on such rumors, my lady."

"That seems like a reasonable offer." Morgana watched the woman's glare and once again reminded herself of her education, of the many people she used to receive in Camelot long ago. Mean, arrogant, rude, she had met them all, and never allowed them to get under her skin. "Everyone knew for some time that Cenred had a sorceress lover, Essetir was never too keen on following laws so no one questioned that rumor."

"Are you wondering if the sorceress was I?" Morgana frowned. "That would be a wrong assumption, the one you speak of was my sister, Morgause."

"Morgause?" The Lady smirked. "Well, it wasn't you then, but it is still your blood we have to thank for Essetir's lack of armies and the end of what little order it used to possess."

"With all due respect, my lady." Morgana said, wondering how much was actually due. "Cenred had ambitions of conquest for far longer than my sister and I were brought into the picture. He was famous for his raids against Anglia, Mercia and Camelot up until his uneasy alliance with Uther."

"But still, it was only after your sorceress sister appeared that he marched Essetir's armies west, and not one man came back after that."

Morgana felt the silence fall down on the great hall and allowed her face to fall briefly.

"A consequence of war, my lady, any man who goes to battle knows the price he might pay."

"Indeed" Lady Elaine looked down upon her, her face unchanged as she finally asked. "What do you seek here?"

She did her best to avoid the sinking feeling she had from showing in that hall and in front of those people. She had known, coming here, that rejection was one of the best outcomes of the journey. Politics, its power, was held by a soft balance between showing respect and strength, demands and compromise.

"I seek your allegiance, my lady." Elaine showed the principle of a frown, Morgana pressed on. "At present moment, the throne of Essetir is empty, ripe for the taking from any man with a army and ambition."

"And you would have us bow to you?"

"I would have you bow to yourselves before someone else arrives."

Morgana watched, fascinated, as the woman's eyes widened, her answer taking a long time to come, so long she felt startled when a man suddenly approached her side, whispering quickly into her ear. Lady Elaine blinked, recomposing herself immediately before attempting an answer.

"Essetir was always a chaotic land, our kings are payed by our taxes and we are left alone to rule ourselves, why should we care if another one comes along?"

"Because as much as Cenred cared nothing for ruling a kingdom beyond hiring his mercenaries to keep the peace, he held his own sort of honor. The man that will come does not." Morgana moved a little ahead, watching the people around the room. "It is of Lot of Anglia that I speak."

She felt the rush of starting conversations and didn't allow it to happen.

"Lot is related to Cenred by blood, he has an savage and bloodthirsty army and is ruthless in his ways. Everyone knows his reputation, how he piles skulls and leaves trails of corpses in his wake. You really think he would allow you or any other small lords to rule without paying a high price?"

Morgana allowed her words to linger for an instant. In her memories she remembered the rumors of Essetir becoming a dangerous land, from where people fled and where any threat to Lot met a horrible end. After what seemed a very long pause, Morgana watched Lady Elaine fidgeting in her seat, the old man came to whisper in her ear again and after a brief exchange, where the woman's piercing glare not once left her, she finally spoke again.

"Very well, Lady Morgana, you and your men might stay for the night as guests, while I take these news into consideration."

Feeling almost light headed for that small triumph, Morgana bowed again and followed a steward to her quarters. On the way she once more wondered about her decision. It was almost a week since she finally decided on this course of action and still her doubts lingered on Amata. They lingered on her travels through a land of tyrants, lingered on the rightfulness of her justice and the fear of it. Thoughts went to the Sarrum's wife and her household, to the words of an old druid and to late meals with her sister when they were still occupying the Sarrum's fortress.

"What do you mean you don't want to attack Camelot?" Morgause had questioned, not in a shout, but a calm query that demanded an explanation.

"Have you ever wondered why we failed sister? Why our kind never truly managed to rise against Uther? Not truly?" Morgana questioned. "All those years and everyone was happy to lower their heads in submission. The druids just wanted a corner of the world to be at peace and the renegades, they burned as fast as embers under the rain."

"There are as many views of magic as there are sorcerers out there Morgana, you cannot expect everyone to agree with each other about certain things."

"I'm aware of it, however, things change if we could give them all something to defend."

Morgause frowned. "Isn't the fact that we're on the edge of extinction enough to fight back?"

"We need more than that." Morgana had told her, leafing through a book at her lap and pausing before the drawing of the fearsome lady knight of her youth, her spear poised to defend the innocents against a raging black dragon. "We need to give our kind more than revenge, more than battle, we need to give them hope. A home."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if those so called kingdoms don't want magic in their lands, we should build a kingdom of our own."

Her sister had been shocked to say least. After all, weren't them going after Camelot exactly so they could legalize magic and free their people? The thing was, Morgana knew Camelot, she knew of their strength and their stubbornness, she lived through it. No, her whole point was that they didn't need Camelot.

"All right, but how, pray tell me, will we do that? Do you suggest we take Amata for ourselves?"

"Not Amata, Jhidar was right about one thing, to truly free magic, we need more than the death of one man. Amata is too stuck in its ways to be easily tamed." Morgana had turned her gaze north then. "There is, however, a kingdom ripe for the taking, with almost no structured laws, scarce nobility and a people earning for any betterment of their lives."

"Essetir" Morgause gasped. "You speak of Essetir."

"Yes, as far as I remember Lot took his sweet time before claiming his uncle's lands. I recon we have at least a month before he starts his march."

"Our kind are not numerous sister, we would still need an army, and as much as the Rowan Staff is useful in close combat, its strength is greatly diminished now. Besides, dead skeletons are useless in the open field." Morgause said carefully and Morgana took a while to think about it.

"Then, we need support, Essetir's lords, knights and farmers, they won't welcome Lot. Cenred relied so much in mercenaries his fyrd is mostly there."

"Fyrd?" Morgause scoffed. "You want to fight beside farmers and peasants with scythes and pitchforks?"

"If they have magic and the right strategy, they can win."

She had patiently waited as her sister digested the news, wondering if she was even right to choose that path. The fact is, Morgana had been truthful when she spoke with Arthur in Camelot, she was in fact tired of that land. Besides, the memories she regained thanks to Morgause's potion had reminded her of something she had almost forgotten, that under everything she had ever tried to accomplish she had always wanted to build a land of freedom and justice, away from Uther's prejudices.

"This plan of yours" Morgause broke the silence. "Camelot will never allow a magical kingdom right across their borders."

Despite every doubt, Morgana had smirked. "No, I imagine they won't."

Morgause had agreed, and after that day, Morgana felt like she had family again. Suddenly there was a sense of trust between her and her sister that she had not felt even in the best days of her past life. She felt like an equal, not only in their pain, but their ambitions. It was almost like her and Arthur used to be, long ago, when they were boy and girl, alone in a court none of them could understand, trying to find on the other what was lacking in the world. Kindness, justice, freedom, truth and, sometimes, something more.

Such memories were not as unwelcome as they might've been one day, and even if such nights were now distant, gone and tarnished by hatred and mistakes, she cherished them nonetheless. There was not as much guilty as their shared blood might have brought her once. Looking outside her room, at the stars, she wondered about the people that might be sharing the view with her when a soft knock cut through her musings.

"Come in"

When the door opened, Morgana held back her surprise at seeing Lady Elaine entering the chambers. She was wearing the same clothes from the hall, but the silver chain was gone and her hair was piled over her shoulders in bright red waves.

"Lady Morgana."

"Lady Elaine" She offered a small curtsy, and dutifully offered a seat to the lady of the castle.

"I came to have words away from the confusion of my hall."

Morgana smiled. "I must be honest, I was expecting a trap rather than a conversation."

"My councilors did have ideas of sending you to Camelot for trial in exchange for protection."

Morgana nodded, quietly keeping her anger at bay. An old side of her screamed about betrayal, but she gave it no heed. "Protection against Lot?"

"Protection against everyone" Lady Elaine said, resigned. "When I was very young, my father always told me Essetir is not like other kingdoms. In these lands lords and knights will fight for scraps and prey upon any sign of weakness. Great Lords share space with slavers and smugglers, criminals will hide and work, all without question. Cenred kept us under a leash, but now that he and his mercenaries are gone, my own neighbors call their men, no doubt seeking to seize these lands now that my father is dead."

Looking down, Morgana bit her lips before accepting the implication. "Your father fought in Camelot."

Lady Elaine nodded, carefully, decisive. "He did."

"I would say I'm sorry, but I know how empty those words might sound." When she looked up again, there was a silent agreement between then, one Morgana was not sure of or even aware until that point. It was an acceptance of the unfairness of life, and the alliances one must make. "So you're considering my proposal."

"In part yes. You clearly would be invaluable in any war against Lot, and my lands wouldn't survive under his rule. I'm not naive to think otherwise. I do, however, wonder at your ambitions in coming to our aid." The woman said, her hands together atop her skirt. "Tell me, my lady, what could I gain from bargaining with you?"

"You heard about my short reign." Morgana saw the confirmation on the other's face and steeled herself. "I hope you don't expect me to justify my actions, because frankly my lady, I can't do so. I had a kingdom under my thumb, I had knights and a people that never supported me. I wanted that power and I did everything I could to keep it and that is all there is to it."

"So you're admitting you would make a poor queen?"

"Not at all, I'm admitting I was a poor queen, but I seek to be better and to build something greater than anything Albion has seen."

"And what is that?"

There was curiosity in her voice, and Morgana paused, letting it stew. "What I plan to do, what I plan to accomplish with your help, my lady, is to build something more, a kingdom where sickness and hunger does not rule, where freedom and justice can be found by even the smallest peasant. A kingdom you hear about in the songs."

"A dream."

"A dream that is possible, with magic." Morgana carefully motioned to the lady's broken arm, and gingerly took it in her hands. "**Ic ðe ðurhhæle ðinu licsar mid ðam sundorcræft ðære ealdan æ. Drycræft ðurhhæle ðina wunda ond ðe geedstaðolie"**

Lady Elaine held her breath at the sound of the spell, but Morgana was careful. She whispered the words gently, easing the magic into the wound as her bracelet burned with power. When the light pulsed and vanished around the limb, Lady Elaine gulped, moving her fingers and bending her elbow, bewildered.

Morgana smiled, as much as one heard about magic, first impressions were important. "Magic can be a door to a world of wonders my lady. If you help me open it, I can show it to you."

Lady Elaine recomposed herself enough to send her a sharp look. "You're asking for a lot."

"Nothing important in this world comes without risk." Morgana sat down, gazing back to the stars. "It is late, but I would love to talk more, what do you say?"

* * *

##################


	10. THE CALL

**THE CALL  
**

* * *

Morgause shivered and got herself closer to the fire.

Tied to a tree, her horse fed eagerly from the fodder, after drinking to his heart's content from the small running stream running beside her camp. In any other circumstance, she would be conjuring a spell for warmth already, but giving the horse more than natural speed and endurance exhausted her body and mind enough to make it difficult.

It was a small price to pay though. Tucking her body in her cloak and munching on a piece of bread to regain a little of her strength, the High Priestess recalled her sister's ambitious little plan once again, spoken with a passion and will so distant from the broken shell she had been in past days. When the details were discussed, she had been the one to plan this little trip because she knew it could work.

"She listens to the earth." she had told her sister. "With appropriate power she might be able to speak as well."

Of course she was skeptical about the outcome, there might be problems, the price might be too high to pay, but in the end Morgana's energy was grudgingly contagious and Morgause caught herself wanting that promised kingdom as well. So she bit on her cheese and threw a enchanted pebble into the fire, feeling the power of the ward enveloping the camp. She would sleep safely for now.

She arrived at the end of the second day. Tired and aching, the blond left her horse behind and peered into the ink like darkness the filled the cave, its energy hitting her like a grief tinged song, bitter and angry and not even the torch she lit was enough to break the shiver that run through her body.

The creature was waiting for her deep into the cave, where the air grew damp and musky, and the torch was her only light. She was hunkered down on the ground of dark earth, but upon Morgause's approach she moved, faster than her eyes could see, grabbing her arm with a bony pale hand. Gasping, the High Priestess did her best to keep still while been stared down by a face with no eyes, sniffing her flesh.

"Morgause of House Gorlois, High Priestess of the Triple Goddess."

Morgause licked at her lips, working out the proper words. "I seek your help, old one, help of utmost importance."

"Interesting." The creature of the earth hummed, coking her head to the side. "What does Morgana Pendragon wishes from me?"

That took her by surprised. "H-how do you know of my sister?"

"How do I know? Am I not the Dochraid? The one who listens to the earth? I know many things young priestess, and I see them too for without my eyes my vision is clear." She hummed to herself, her lips curling into a ugly smile. "The threads of fate were broken. I felt it happening. The earth trembled, and now nothing is as it should be."

"What are you talking about?"

The Dochraid turned around, her form settling down until she was almost lying on the ground, the tangle of hair atop of her head resting above a lime covered stone. "Many threads the destiny brings us. Some speak of a king, the once and future king, who will bring peace and prosperity. Others speak of Emrys and his power, bending fate to his will. More than one though, speak of Morgana, and the old ways. These last ones I follow eagerly, but now, they have changed to something uncertain, fragile and brittle."

Morgause gulped, feeling the uneasy settling like a stone in her stomach. Of course she had heard about certain prophecies before, the one about the once and future king had stopped her from harming Arthur in the past, but she never gave them all that much credit. Nimue always said living your life for prophecies was the same as a blind man believing he could still see. With that in mind, even though she wanted to know more, she refused to entertain the thought and stay in that cave longer than necessary.

"Will you help, ancient one?" The Dochraid said nothing, so Morgause stepped forward, the Rowan Staff clutched in her hand, its scars and cracks shining under the torch. "Will you sent a call into the earth?"

"A call, aye, that would be possible, and the payment is more than appropriate."

The creature grabbed the staff from her hands, sniffing the wood, and feeling the scars left on the relic. Arthur's servant had broken it, but she and her sister had repaired it, its magic crippled forever, but unique all the same. The Dochraid whispered to herself then. The air growing thick with magic older than Morgause, perhaps older than the staff itself. **"Fôn sê godcund lâf. ætberan sê ionna êower earm, hwæðere tîð sê ðâ ðe cwene bênsian. L¯æn hiere of hê êower swêg, sê mêowle ðafian hiere of hê mancynn. Lendan hiere of hê êower sceadw¯ære onwealh."** When those hideous hands let go of the staff, it remained standing, pulsing with energy.

"Your time is short, High Priestess, be quick and don't let go."

* * *

"Careful, Merlin, you don't want to end up on the ground, do you?" Percival said, his eyebrows rising to his forehead, while Merlin easily walked around him. After bumping on the knight in his hurry, he did realize the man was made of marble.

"Sorry" He spoke quickly, smiling to himself.

The kitchens were, as always, a whole mess of paces and voices, people coming and going as they readied the castle's meals for the day. Broths were heated atop of big ovens, bread was baked and separated for the servants, while meats and fruits were cured and dried up for storage. As the Winter came closer and closer, already people were expecting snows to fall at any day.

Sneaking his way inside and avoiding Fal's quick eyes, Merlin found the Prince's clothes drying atop of a fire. Luckily, it hadn't caught fire like the first time he had done it, which was a blessing. He lost notion of how much magic he used just to take care of Arthur's clothes. For a moment he was tempted to stay in the kitchens for a while longer, they were warm after all, so hot some people were sweating despite the cold winds blowing outdoors. Unfortunately, he really didn't want to give Arthur an excuse to punish him, so he quickly took the clothes and left, stopping short when he saw Gwen and Lancelot talking in the Phoenix hallway.

He waved and Gwen smiled at him, for which he was glad. She had seemed very down lately, and with the rumors about her circulating the village, Merlin had been trying extra hard to keep an eye on her. Lancelot was saying his farewell now, maybe going out on another scouting. With supplies arriving every day, the knights had more than their hands full in keeping the roads safe.

"Hello, Merlin, in a hurry today?" She asked, clutching a bundle of clothes at her side, the king's most likely.

"Everyday." He smirked, keeping pace with her. "Arthur gains a promotion and my job doubles, it's really silly when you think about it."

"Well, we all do our parts, don't we?" She pointed out, as they climbed the stairs.

"For Camelot" Merlin nodded. "Gaius tells me the king is off the bed."

"More than before, at least." She paused. "And how is Arthur? Its been a while since we got to talk."

"He is okay, I think." He paused, thinking back to the many nights he found Arthur just looking out his window at night, the name in his mind passing by them unspoken. Merlin knew that many people had been affected by Morgana's betrayal, and he was more than glad that they all seem to be moving on. "He doesn't spend as much time without sleep now that his uncle is here."

"Lord Agravaine" Gwen bit at her lower lip. Merlin knew she was weird around the man who had taken control of so many things upon his arrival. "How is he like?"

"Dunno, sort of a git I think."

They both chuckled at that and Merlin was happy to see Gwen going away with a smile as he finally came back to Arthur's chambers with his clothes.

It was a tiresome task of course, but at these times, tasks held a whole new weight to them, because if Camelot was to ever rebuild itself, it had, first, to function properly, and that meant his position as Arthur's servant mattered even more. It was his responsibility that the regent was fed, had clothes and armor at his disposition. It was his responsibility to see to his comfort, and his schedules and whatnots, allowing him to think only of his kingdom.

It didn't mean he had to like of course.

When the prince's chambers were all completely settled, and his clothes were back into place, he hurried back to the council, stumbling and dodging working servants and knights as they flooded the hallways with tasks of every nature. Twice he caught gossiping words floating in the air, and only once he whispered a small enchantment to drench the gossipers in soap water. The doors had just opened when he arrived, letting out a series of disgruntled nobles, some peeved old knights, and a few friendly faces, none of them were Arthur's though so he quietly let himself in.

"You can't ignore it forever, Arthur."

"I'm aware of that, uncle" Arthur was saying, sitting at the head of the table, his brow furrowed in thought. "However, Lord Hector must be made aware that his counsel is nothing but that, a counsel."

"Indeed, but that doesn't stop the fact that he is slowly gaining support for his cause. Remember, Arthur, your father always spoke of seizing more territory and expanding Camelot's borders, and many men that he raised to power shared in his ambitions."

Merlin slowly put himself beside the door, noticing Arthur's gaze dart his way for a moment. "Do you think it would be wise?"

Agravaine paused, and Merlin watched the man pacing for a moment. "Lord Hector is right on one thing, Lot would never dare face our troops if we were to occupy Cenred's kingdom before him, however to risk an campaign in winter, you're right to refuse."

"So, I'm right." Arthur's shoulders seemed to sag in relief at that, his uncle offering him a weary smile.

"Just make sure to let him know of that, sire. You must be strong when letting your decisions be known." At that, the man bowed and Merlin watched him leaving without sparing a single glance to him, the servant.

"You finished with your tasks, Merlin?"

"Of course, sire." He walked forward, standing beside the table where Arthur was slowly tracing the old carvings. "Something on your mind?"

"Nothing, what business is it yours with what is on my mind?" Merlin shrugged, waiting patiently until his cloth-pole of a prince got over his stubbornness. "Did you know, Merlin, that Camelot usually offers support to neighboring kingdoms during harsh winters?"

"I didn't know that."

"Well, my father used it as a way to keep alliances, you know, keep them safe and dependent on our supplies, but now, we hardly have enough to feed our own people." Merlin chewed the inside of his cheek. To him, staring at the cellars packed with meat, the stores with sacks of wealthy and grain that reached the roofs, and barrels and more barrels of mead and wine carried by carts everyday, it seemed that Camelot had enough food for years, but of course appearances could be very deceiving. "Of course, I won't be able to send anything this year. In fact, I feel tempted to ask, and that might bring consequences of its own."

Merlin nodded, he didn't know enough about politics and relations between kingdoms to understand, but he knew that his friend was troubled. "Well, maybe you should just, think about it later. I'm sure you can come to a solution with a full stomach and a clear head."

"Yes, a clear head." Arthur's smile was bitter, his eyes lingered atop of the table for a moment. "The last time Camelot was starving, Morgana sent all of her food to the servants, did you know?"

Merlin blinked, suddenly, there was a very bad taste in his mouth as he nodded to the prince. Arthur seemed too lost in the memory of that ordeal with the unicorn to notice his reaction. "She spoke to my father about it, she was angered that he would have a full meal while people starved. It was always like that with her, she saw something wrong and didn't hesitate to fix it."

"She was never afraid of Uther" Merlin said, because that seemed the most harmless truth in that moment.

"Do you think there is still some part of that old Morgana in her?"

Merlin didn't know what was it that made Arthur's voice become thick like that. In true, he was surprised by the turn of the conversation. Morgana seemed like such a heavy subject, something that floated over Camelot like a curse that no one dared give voice to. Arthur himself had avoided her name until now, and Merlin wondered at that, because, to be honest, he saw no hope for the woman

Morgana had already proven again and again that she wouldn't hesitate to destroy Camelot, and what he was trying to accomplish, worst of all, friendship meant nothing to her. He could forgive her attempts of harming Arthur and Gwen, even though he could somewhat understand her hatred for him. Sometimes, when he was alone and reading about magic, he would feel the guilt punching him in the guts so hard it stole his breath, but as time passed, he became more and more sure that he made the right choice, and more and more Morgana seemed to sink into her hate. She was the darkness to his light. "I think, she made her choices, Arthur, we can't pretend that she didn't."

"Right, of course." Arthur answered quickly. Merlin feared he would be in a sour mood now, but instead he broke the tension with an most unexpected question. "I don't think I like this table."

"What?"

"This table." He knocked on the wood, motioning to the length of it before him and grimaced. The topic of Morgana seeming forgotten. "I don't like it."

"It is very ugly."

"That is not what I meant, idiot." Arthur complained. "After we're done fixing the damaged parts of the castle, I think I'm gonna build a new one, like the one from the ruins, round. What do you think?"

Merlin blinked, the temptation was stronger than him at that moment. "You would seek advice from a mere servant on furniture, my prince, you honor me."

"Shut up, be serious." Arthur scolded, but he was still seated and Merlin was standing at least a inch too far to receive a slap to the back of the head. So he grinned. "My uncle thinks it is unwise. To sit at the head of the table shows power, he says."

"He is right, but the knights that followed you from those ruins didn't do it because you were above them."

Merlin thought it was a very good counsel, and he hoped Arthur would listen to it. Never before, since his arrival at Camelot, Merlin had felt as hopeful as at these last days. It was hard work, but watching Arthur ruling the kingdom seemed a sure sign that good times were coming, that Kilgharrah's promises were finally about to come true. Sure, it was horrible that Uther was not himself, but Merlin had no doubt that Arthur could be a better king that the man had ever been. He was about to say that, as much as Arthur wouldn't really appreciate it, when he felt the air been squeezed out of his lungs. He blinked, feeling it around him, thick like the bottom of a lake, every muscles in his body struggling to move. In front of him Arthur spoke something, but his ears were filled with a loud hissing sound that slowly morphed into a voice.

_"Brothers and sister. Sorcerers of all the land. Listen and be wise. For years now our kind has been hunted, massacred and butchered under the will of evil laws. For years, you have hidden yourselves from the world, hidden under slavery and cages of the mind. For years you have lost homes and loved ones to tyranny and oppression. Now, I say it, we've had enough. For too long this has gone, now it's time to rise. Now, I urge you to set yourselves free, to fight for a place of our own. In the name of Morgana Pendragon, Champion of Magic and the Old Religion. I urge your to follow this call, to a place of battle. You want hope and freedom? Follow this call and spark it, feed its fire, let it become an inferno!"_

Then, the magic washed away and Merlin caught himself before he could fall, his hands clutching the side of the table in front of him while Arthur's voice became clear and louder.

"...mmit! Merlin, are you listening!? Talk to me!"

"I-I'm listening" He whispered weakly, while Arthur helped him to a chair. His legs were trembling, and he grabbed them in a attempt to make them stop, but it barely worked.

"What happened? Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, of course, I'm all right." He watched Arthur's brow furrowing as he looked him up and down, the scrutiny of the prince not helping Merlin as he felt his clothes sticking to his skin, and the tingling at the back of his head that spoke of a place that he should reach. A location printed in his mind as well as the location of his bedroom.

"You don't seem all right, go see Gaius. That's an order, I don't need you breaking your neck on the stairs or anything."

"Right..." Any other day he would be either refusing to leave or jumping at the idea of a day off, but Arthur had it right. He needed to see Gaius right away. "Of course."

He started to run as soon as he was out of Arthur's sight, his feet jumping down the stairs two at a time, sliding across the hallways, and through the courtyard as if the storm itself was racing to catch him. As he climbed the tower, he could hear it, whispered by the dragon's voice, an ominous warning, a threat. _Darkness to his light_. He felt it now, more than ever, and Merlin didn't stop until he was pushing the doors open with a burst of magic. Panting, his wide eyes sought out the physician, finding him sitting in front of the fire, his haunted gaze telling Merlin everything he needed to know.

"Gaius, was that..."

"That was, indeed, Morgause's voice, Merlin. I was hoping you hadn't heard it, but alas." Gaius sighed deeply, while Merlin walked up to him. "It must be a very powerful magic."

"Who was she talking to?"

"Can't you guess?" Gaius raised an eyebrow, his lips pursing questionably. "She was speaking to all of us, Merlin, all of us who have magic."

Merlin shook his head. It couldn't be, not so soon after their victory. Camelot had barely recovered from the fighting and Morgana was already preparing her next step, because that was what that was. A new plot. He was sure of it and immediately started rumbling about it. "It was a message, and there is a place too, somewhere to meet."

"So it would seem."

"What would she have to say that is so important, that she would call magical people to a meeting?"

Gaius was shaking his head and the way his eyes landed heavily on him made it seem as if the light suddenly vanished from the room. Suddenly, Merlin felt it, the darkness closing in on them, its mouth open, ready to take him between its teeth. "That wasn't a call for a meeting, my boy. That was a call to arms."

* * *

##################


	11. NEGOTIATIONS

**NEGOTIATIONS  
**

* * *

She was dressed all in black, from the veil covering her face to the boots visible under the skirt, the colors of her mourning were only broken by her personal twin wolves, pinning her cloak over her shoulders as she initiated the conversations. Her gaze never lingered far away, which even Morgana found to be disconcerting.

"You're far from home sorceress, both you and Lady Elaine."

"As is you, Lady Cerys."

She offered no curtsy but a slight tilt of her head, a show of respect but not of submission. She had shown the later to Lady Elaine because she was then a beggar seeking the impossible, but with the blue ox and half dozen small lords and knights now backing her ambitions, her meetings would now require a different sort of behavior. If Lady Elaine took notice of that, she didn't show it, merely offering a similar greeting before taking her seat.

"It is always curious to receive news of marching armies, dangerously so."

Again, Morgana nodded, feeling warm under her traveling clothes. Although she had no real wardrobe, Lady Elaine had been kind enough to offer a fancy fur cloak instead of her old traveling one. It was indeed for more adequate to the setting around her. The huge tent was well furnished and lit, barely allowing any chill to enter the meeting, and it came with tables and chairs holding cups of silver and foodstuffs, if there were servants present she had no doubt they would be dressed better than her.

"We came here seeking an explanation about your intentions." The voice that broke the silence was young and on the verge of breaking itself. The lad that was Lord Trito wasn't old enough to grow a beard, and yet he did his best to appear strong on his seat, dressed in a leather tunic carved with running dogs. From the opposite side, Lord Belmont, his thick beard parted in three braids, cleared his throat.

"Yes, precisely, your messages were rather vague about it."

"Our message spoke about meeting Lot in the battlefield, my lords. I don't see where lies the confusion." Lady Elaine questioned, the single braid of red spilling over her shoulder, tied by a set of matching blue ribbons.

"Clearly, the confusion lies on your allegiance, Lady Elaine. Have you allied yourself with a witch?" Belmont inquired and Morgana felt the urge to sink her nails in her armrest.

"My allegiance with Lady Morgana was done so under the premise of mutual benefit, Lord Belmont. It is not so different than your families' past negotiations with slave traders and mercenaries."

Lord Belmont's shrewd eyes narrowed dangerously, but nothing he did could hide the sudden flush that came to his cheeks. "Those truces were a means to secure the safety of my lands. Lest not forget that your own father resorted to such things in the past."

"And I won't deny that. Cenred always pushed his greed into his policies, taking power away from our legit rule to bank his business partners, I doubt any of you are mourning his death."

"We mourn the stability he kept." Lady Cerys cut in, her purple covered lips twisting into a grimace. "We mourn those that were brought down with him."

"And in that, I think we are all equal, wouldn't you say?"

"Hardly"

The implication once again had Morgana reeling, bracing herself for the subject that was coming next. Surprisingly, it was the young Trito that brought it up. "Lady Morgana was responsible for Cenred's fall, was she not?"

Had it been her old self, Morgana might have lashed out, a simple spell with enough power to submit all three of these lords to her will, forcefully so, but she was long past depending on such urges. Albion had always been a place of greed and power, where rulers were far more concerned by their personal strife and imaginary wrongs than the big picture. It was a land of little trust, but, like she had told Lady Elaine before, nothing important came without risk.

"You want to know of Cenred? I can speak in length about him, about how me and my sister came to him for his army and about how he didn't think twice about submitting his men to dark sorcery even if it meant taking away their freedom." She blinked, putting to worlds exactly what they wanted to hear, those three who together could possibly bring the rest of Essetir to her side. "You cast your blame upon my shoulders? Fine, pick up a sword and challenge me right now, I vow to not use magic at all, but if you wish to hear the true, Cenred had doomed your loved ones the moment he saw a chance for his greed to take flight."

Lord Belmont sneered. "You deny your sorcery tempted our king?"

"If you considered him a king I highly doubt your capacity for judgment."

"Oh, you..."

"Belmont" Lady Cerys interrupted, a simple motion of her hands brought the man down into his chair, as she once again looked at Morgana. "You have a sharp tongue, sorceress."

"The truth can often cut, my lady."

"Yes, indeed, and yet you didn't answer to his accusation."

"His accusation? Why, yes, I had part in the sorcery that destroyed his armies. He wanted to be invincible, me and my sister, we gave him that. Then Camelot defeated us all, and now here we are. That is the reality of the situation."

Lady Cerys changed her target to Elaine. "You lost a father, Lady Elaine, a man I used to respect, how come you are now at this woman's side?"

"The opportunity to avoid a far worse fate." The Lady of the Blue Ox declared. "In the end, the only thing that remains is the facts, Lady Cerys. My father is dead, and now the evil of Lot and his wardogs marches into our country. Morgana Pendragon offers us a chance to fight."

"In a futile war?"

"It won't be futile." Morgana pursed her lips, watching those lords in front of her with the same careful gaze she had learned through pain and betrayal. "Not if all of Essetir and my people, fight together."

"Your people?" Trito questioned.

"Yes, my people, sorcerers and renegade druids, small warlocks and witches, all of those pursued and beaten across the land."

"Criminals and rebels, old hags and children." Lady Cerys tilted her head to the side, her wrinkles showing strong laughing lines when she smiled. "Essetir was always lax in following the law, but it wasn't out of tolerance, Lady Morgana, I assure you."

"I'm aware. If Cenred actually had the means many of you would be hunting down my kind, I have no doubt, and yet now you need us all the same." She watched their patience working itself thin, and decided to cut to the chase. "Unless none of you care for licking Lot's boots when he comes to power."

All at once, the room seemed to erupt. Lord Belmont opened his mouth, starting a rant about insolence, and insults. Lord Trito frowned, while Lady Elaine answered in kind, her voice rising as she scolded the man for his attitude and Lady Cerys demanded silence. Morgana waited for a few heartbeats before having enough of that mess. She shot out her hand and made the candles around the tent increase and hiss, the noise and heat bringing the argument to a stop as wary eyes now found her to be a tempting target. No one was happy to be reminded of her power, it seemed.

"You want to know your options? I can give them to you, as certain as any Seer out there. Lot will come, he will demand submission and call it loyalty, he will raid villages and sell your people into slavery. He will leech your vaults and lands until you're hungry and miserable. He will take daughters and sons, and he will torture and kill at the mere sign of defiance. That is the future for those who don't fight now."

"B-but... Essetir doesn't fight together." The lad stuttered, he darted his gaze to his companions and then back towards her, never looking more like a child as in that moment. "My father always said so, he only went to Camelot for the… For the loot."

"As did my husband, and Lord Belmont's nephews I have no doubt" Lady Cerys complemented. "Young Trito speaks truly, Essetir will never fight together, much less against someone as feared as Lot."

Lord Belmont nodded. "We've already heard words that he is traveling south, his claim has been made for all to hear, and he has an army at his back. Horses, spears and shields in numbers we can never hope to match."

"Fighting him is pointless."

Beside her, Morgana could feel Lady Elaine's gaze as sure as the touch of an ice spike. "So no one wants Lot for their king."

Lady Cerys huffed. "Not even a rock with enough sense would want such a thing."

"Then join us. We all know what serving Lot would mean, we all heard of his name and his deeds." Lady Elaine spoke, her voice was as unwavering as it had been in her halls. "You claim Essetir doesn't fight together, but I managed to unite all my close neighbors, old friends of my father and even those who were gathering to attack my own lands."

Lady Cerys glared. "Don't hide behind your words, my Lady. The three of us have heard about how Morgana Pendragon has threatened your enemies, your only reason to support her is so that you don't loose your lands."

"And wouldn't you do the same? Isn't that exactly what we're promising you three?"

The bitterness became thick as butter, and Morgana almost wished she had a knife to taste the flavor, instead she got to her feet, making sure she was the center of attention in the small space. Feeling the patterns of her bracelet with her fingers she scowled over the great three of Essetir.

"This isn't just about defeating Lot, it's about much more than you can possibly imagine, my lords." Her dress was heavy and suffocating, he throat felt dry. "I made a deal with the Lady Elaine, one that partakes with my kind and her own people. When Lot is defeated she has offered land and protection to magical folk. Her people and mine, will share and live side by side, and just imagine what that can bring, my lords. With the right spell you can eliminate plagues and diseases, with the right words, you might grow healthier crops and protect your borders. A wealthy kingdom and a wealthy people, that is what I'm offering."

"That is absurd."

"Heretic."

She raised a hand interrupting their protests. It was a test, a test of how far they saw her as a threat and how far they were willing to listen and it worked. Making sure to hide her pleasure at the silence, Morgana carefully explained the situation.

"Forgive me, but I've made a call already, a calling to sorcerers all over Albion to come and fight for Essetir. Be aware I'm not taking you into a losing gamble, but to a very possible victory. Lady Elaine and her armies will have magic on their side, and when this conflict is over her lands will rip the benefits of it whether you wished it or not."

"I have already made a pact with Morgana in name of her people." Lady Elaine followed suit. "We repeat our message to you. We want safe passage through your lands, and we ask for men and supplies so we might face Lot on the northern marches."

"Cenred spent years keeping Essetir on its knees." Morgana said, putting power behind her voice, a power she had heard in Arthur's voice and even Uther a few times. "If you want to grasp the chance to rise to your feet, that is up to you."

Even though silence could sometimes speak for itself, Morgana still couldn't help but wish she could read auras as well as Morgause, to glimpse into the minds in front of her and see how far she had reached them. It wasn't easy what she was offering, but Morgana had not expected anything else. Essetir was already a broken kingdom, having some of them wishing to forge their personal realms wouldn't bother her at all.

"Perhaps, we might speak with Lady Elaine by ourselves, Lady Morgana."

It was only the use of the title and respectful tone in Lady Cerys' voice that made her actually acquiesce and walk out of the tent, feeling the cold in her skin, the first breath of winter, so promising and dangerous all at once. Such a beautiful combination. She couldn't help but smile as she came back to where Accolon and Bors were waiting with her mare, those memories that she had revived making themselves known yet again. The promising gazes of two young lovers meeting each other across the hall, and the dangerous affair that came in their nights. Arthur's chambers had always felt warm, despite the snows falling outside, warm in more ways than a mere fire could make it.

It was a while later when her ally finally emerged.

Lady Elaine mounted silently and together, they rode down the hill, towards the one thousand, eight hundred and thirteen men of the army. Farmers, poachers, and lads, the bottom of the barrel.

"Don't you think you were a bit harsh?"

"They needed harshness." Morgana explained. "I've been where they are now, paralyzed by fear, wanting to hang on to what little they had left. Sometimes you need some harshness to shake such a people."

Elaine hummed, riding a while longer before asking again. "Was I paralyzed by fear?"

"No." Now she looked at the woman, in their short time together, between meals and negotiations involving what magic could do for her lands, Morgana had come to like the young noble. "You were paralyzed by anger, it is a little bit different. You just needed a target."

The auburn haired woman barked a laugh at that. "Well, if you must know, I think Lord Trito is interested in joining us, but I can't say the same for the other two."

"You said that his lands are vast."

"They are, but he is young still, not as influential as his father was. If we had any hopes of uniting Essetir we needed all three of them."

Morgana nodded. "Well, his alliance is still better than nothing, besides, there is time still for the others to change their minds."

"Not that much time, with the snows always closer we might have to march and give battle before the army starves."

"It won't come to that." Elaine seemed uncertain, but Morgana smiled confidently. "Trust me."

They rode down the slope and came to the huge camp waiting in the valley. Around her, it was not soldiers that waited for them, but the bulk of Lady Elaine's fyrd, the farmers and their sons, and wanderers and free knights with the few household guards that were still alive to be there. They were all clustered around their fires now, cooking their meals in between shifts of guards, as they came to a tent protected in the center of the camp, where Elaine's blue ox flew beside the rowan tree. The chief of Elaine's guard greeted them both right away, whispering something in his Lady's ear that caused her lips to purse.

"What is it?"

"It seems your call has already shown results."

Morgana frowned, following Lady Elaine around the tent to where a man and a woman were being watched by a score of armed guards, their familiar eyes rising to roam over her features. The man was not young, his hair was short and gray, his face a testament of time and hardships that was also painted over his posture. The woman, however young, had a similar look under the tangled nest of dark hair, her body was covered in rags rather than proper clothing, although the chain mail attested to skills in battle.

"They presented themselves to the camp as soon your flag was raised." The captain explained, motioning the rowan tree banner, crimson against black cloth.

Nodding, Morgana approached, talking first to the woman. "What is your name?"

"Mauren." She answered, looking away.

"You've heard the call." Morgana pointed out, to which the woman nodded.

"Aye, I heard it, it blared in my mind for what is worth, me and my companions, we all came."

"Your companions?" Lady Elaine asked and the girl huffed.

"Why, of course we wouldn't risk all showing up at once, would we? Damn bloody stupid that would be."

Morgana glanced at the man when she said that, but doubted he had any qualms about being held prisoner. She had watched him cut down scores of knights once. "Well, the call was true, I'm Morgana Pendragon, and I do seek help to fight for our people. I swear it by the goddess."

The woman's gaze lingered for a little bit longer, her yellow teeth appearing in a cynical smile. "Well, as long as I get to draw some blood, I guess we're good."

Morgana nodded. "Feel free to call your people when you're comfortable."

Mauren scoffed again, a cynical sound so far away from a dead body lying in a pool of blood, it was a sound of young people who hated to feel their age. Realizing that there was not more to gain from talking to the woman, she turned to the man.

"And you are..."

"Ruadan, my lady."

It was odd to hear such polite introduction from a man who had once strode into her dwellings with a prophecy and a promise on his lips. "Ruadan, I've heard of you, rumors and whispers. You were once a druid, were you not?"

"Yes, my lady, they always refused to fight back no matter what happened. I couldn't really agree to them anymore as their choices were always to lower their heads."

"Indeed, I myself am of the belief than sometimes change needs a more forceful approach." She paused, tilting her head curiously. "Have you come to fight, Ruadan?"

"In my travels, I heard many things, my lady. Tales and prophecies and promises. Indeed there is one that sparked my curiosity, of a woman destined to revive the Old Religion." He eyed her from beneath his eyebrows, and she opened herself to his study, wondering how deep his simmering hate for Camelot would be at this point. "If you indeed fight for our people, than I would fight for you."

"Very well." She looked to the captain. "Make sure they're well fed and sheltered. I shall talk more to them later."

"Yes, my lady."

As the man walked away to see to his orders, Morgana faced the two people that had marched all the way to Essetir on her promise of freedom and battle. One that had served her and another that would no doubt try to kill her at some point. Two avengers with dark hearts. Her people, or at least what Uther made of them.

She didn't mind of course.

As the sun lowered itself behind the horizon, and the banners of the twin wolves and a pack of dogs crested above their messengers, Morgana shared with them a meal, because she understood them, she understood them very well.

* * *

##################


	12. BURDENS

**BURDENS  
**

* * *

The day was chilly and gray and Arthur's breath smoked in front of his face as he stood on the edge of the training grounds. In front of him, young men of many ages practiced stances and lunges with wooden swords, and despite the cold he could clearly see the sweat clinging to their skin after a morning of exercise.

For him, it was strange, to watch them there as if only yesterday he could feel his own instructors barking orders and pummeling him with practice weapons full of led, until he was stumbling into bed, sore and tired. It would do them good, he thought now. Suffering builds a man's character, or that was what his father used to say when he felt tempted to beg for water. He wondered if the current instructor understood that.

"Relax your grip!" Lancelot shouted at them. "If you hold your sword too loose, it will fall, hold it too hard and it will hurt. Learning that balance is essential for any swordsman!"

"Are you gonna be mad at him?"

"What?" He turned to his side, watching Merlin's uncertain grin level with his shoulder.

"Lancelot, are you mad at him?"

"What business is it to you, Merlin?" Now he was annoyed. He really didn't need a servant asking questions when the whole kingdom already doubted his competence.

"None at all, I'm just curious since you called me here." Merlin fidget. "Oh god, you don't want me to hold him for you, do you?"

That made him chuckle. "Merlin, I'll let you know that unless I need my closet moved or my things carried for me, I don't really expect any physical prowess from your part."

"Oh, that's a relief." Arthur nodded, watching as Lancelot finally took notice of his presence. The knight mumbled something to the men and strode his way. "I was starting to think that my twig of a body wasn't obvious enough."

"Shut up, Merlin."

Lancelot must have caught some piece of the exchange, because his lips twitched briefly when he bowed his head. "Sire, what brings you here?"

"Well, if you must know, I just had a fun morning at court when Sir Brennis strode in, demanding you be put in cell for undermining his authority." He looked over his knight, watching the men lining up for sparring, their stances were nearly perfect. "Wasn't he the one in charge of training the recruits?"

"Well, sire, if you must know, it wasn't my intention to undermine his authority." Lancelot rubbed the back of his head, his eyes darting everywhere but his face. "I was having a conversation with Gwen, and I was pointing out that Sir Brennis wasn't really teaching anything. He was just shouting at people."

"I see." He tried not to think about the fact that Lancelot had seen Gwen that morning, he hadn't been in her presence for days now, only catching glimpses of her dark curls here and there, wondering if he could feel a whisper of those gentle brown eyes of hers. Suddenly, he missed her. "Then, what happened?"

"Well, I tried pointing that out to him which caused Sir Brennis to challenge me. He told me that if I thought I could do a better job, I should do it. I instructed a random lad, and he picked another. They fought, and the boy under my instructions won."

"At which point, Sir Brennis felt insulted."

"If his ego is that fragile that wasn't really much to insult, was there?" Merlin pointed out from his back. Arthur turned and looked at his servant pointedly, barely holding his grin back while Merlin turned away, that touch of mirth and insolence never really disappearing.

"In any case, I shall apologize to Sir Brennis as soon as possible, sire."

"That would probably be for the best, just try not turning this into a duel." There was a loud scream, and they all turned to watch a boy clutching his arm. His face was young, and it suddenly struck Arthur that those were not really men on the field, some of them couldn't possibly be over sixteen as he demanded in his orders. "Some of those are children."

"Some of those lads probably lied about their age, sire."

Arthur frowned at the information. He wasn't naive, heck, his father had called him that so many times he came to hate the word altogether, but he needed to be sure of the reasons his orders were defiled. "Why?"

"Many reasons" Lancelot side eyed him. "Safety, food, coin, a warm bed."

"It shouldn't be this way."

"It shouldn't" Lancelot agreed, but none of them made a move to fix the problem, because, in the end of the day, there was no fixing it.

Despite the urge to pull some of those boys from the field and send them to their mothers, Arthur knew that Camelot needed soldiers and knights. One day, those same boys would guard his walls and fight his enemies, one of these days, with his new rules concerning the knights' code, one of those boys might even sit at his table.

"If a man joins my guard only for food and coin, how can I trust that he will understand what it means to be honest and just? Brave?"

For a while he wondered if Lancelot understood his doubts, as the knight took his time to think of his words. He was always like this, Lancelot, thinking and measuring every word. It was something he found both welcome and uncomfortable. "Is that all that different from a man who joins the knights for the glory? I think that every man has its ambitions, sire, the only thing that changes is who is teaching them."

That brought him a smile. "Which you seem to be good in doing, Sir Lancelot."

Behind him he could almost hear Merlin's smile. At his side, Lancelot spared him a look that was both surprised and curious.

"Sire?"

"I don't have time to train anyone personally anymore, at least not at the moment and Sir Brennis has proven to me that his pride matters more than these men's learning. I was thinking of putting you on the job."

"Are you sure?" Arthur turn to look at him, but Lancelot had his gaze lowered. "I thought I was needed out there. There are still bandits roaming these lands and with the recent rumors..."

Arthur frowned. "You heard about that."

"Yes."

Still, Lancelot didn't met his gaze, and Arthur grimaced. If his knights knew about what was happening, he supposed it was too much to hope that the rest of the castle hadn't heard it yet. "You heard about Morgana."

The news had arrived last night.

The Sarrum's wife called herself queen. The Sarrum of Amata was dead. Sorceresses were said to be responsible.

Names were never given, but it slowly became clear to everyone that Morgana and her sister had been involved. The news had brought up a lengthy debate to his council. Many were worried that Amata might attack in retaliation and although the two nations had never been friendly, his uncle had dismissed the idea. Morgana was a criminal, and Camelot had no fault in what happened.

Of course, Lord Hector had been inflamed in his ideas of war, and others had followed him, perhaps out of fear. Arthur didn't want any of that though, in fact, he didn't wish to think of Morgana at all, except that she seemed to always be close by, like a shadow fleeing the eye.

"Amata is not that far from Camelot, sire. To be honest, I thought I would be of more use out there."

"Nonsense, there are many knights that can fight. I've already sent Gwaine to patrol our borders with Amata. I have Percival and Elyan out there tracking any outlaws still roaming our lands. Besides, the winter will keep Camelot safe from invaders. What I need is someone that will make sure these boys are ready when the snows start melting." He smirked. "Come on, Lancelot, you can't tell me you would like to be away all the time."

"No, not at all."

His knight still seemed unsure, but Arthur didn't know if he had the energy to keep arguing. "Listen, whatever happened in Amata, it doesn't concern you and even if it did, we can't do anything without further information. Camelot is safe, I promise."

_As safe as I can make it._ He added in his mind wondering how he would sell the appointment to the rest of his council. He knew his dismissal of the rules of knighthood had not been done without resentment, Sir Brennis was just one more sign of that. Arthur was, however, sure that Lancelot was perfect for the position of master-of-arms. That man was willing to give his life for a good cause, he had a good heart and courage. From killing the griffin to risking his life for Gwen. Who else could teach the recruits about things like courage, fortitude and discipline? Besides, he was the hero who spilled the Cup of Life, that admiration would surely be useful.

After a long pause in which Arthur could feel himself growing restless, Lancelot finally nodded. "It will be an honor, sire."

"Good, that is good. Carry on then" Arthur awkwardly tapped the man's shoulder and turned to go back inside, where the rest of his duties were still calling him.

Around him, the roads grew more and more busy as villages that were too small sent their populations to shelter in Camelot. Barrels were rolled from one side to the other, and already he could hear the new blacksmith working in the distance. Amid the chaos, that is when he saw her, walking across the courtyard, carrying a bundle in her arms. When her eyes met him, she smiled, and he reciprocated without thinking, taking in the circles under her eyes. She looked as tired as he felt.

"Merlin?"

"Sire?"

"I want you to be available tonight."

"Well, actually, I had this thing I need to do and..."

"I'm sure nothing you have to do is more important than this, so shut up and listen."

He spoke clearly, leaving no space for errors. Merlin could be a clumsy fool, but Arthur trusted him with important things, besides he didn't seem sick or anything. The incident where his servant had almost passed out in front of him was almost a week old now, and sometimes Arthur could feel the reborn terror of it coming back. This normalcy, it helped, it made it seem once more that despite Morgana, the kingdom, his father, Merlin would always be there.

After that, his day passed in a hurry. A meeting with Geoffrey, a meeting with his uncle, a meeting with the steward, crafting a letter requesting aid. Orders were giving and decisions were made, all to make sure his people would get through winter. That was what ruling meant, he was slowly realizing. Planning, planning, planning and, on occasion, dealing with the pesky surprises that were more than unwelcome.

As night came along, he did however found himself content as he entered his chambers to find Merlin finishing the preparations.

"Everything ready?"

"Yes, well, as ready as it can be."

He stopped to examine the table. The food looked delicious, the silverware was glinting and the plates were clean. He raised a spoon under the firelight and let the metal glint under his stare. "Well, thank you, Merlin. I really appreciate it how passable this looks."

"You're welcome."

"Only..." His servant stopped halfway to the door. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What is that?"

"Well, it wouldn't be a proper meal without a well provided service, right? Usually that would mean having my servant serving us wine till the late hours of the night and all that stuff." He watched Merlin's face crumbling, the beginnings of a sharp retort already on his lips. He was so easy to get a rise of sometimes, although his wit was not as entertaining as other's. "I kid of course, off you go."

"Wait, you're not finding new ways to torture me? That is a new one."

"Are you questioning my generosity? Perhaps I should put you to work after..."

"Nothanksgottago!" The door banged shut and Arthur chuckled, the sound was foreign, but he allowed himself to feel it all the same.

"You seem cheerful"

Sure enough, Gwen was standing where Merlin had been a moment ago, wearing the colors of a servant, with the skin shining with sweat and the hair slightly disheveled. She obviously had been working hard. "More so now."

She smiled. "I'm sorry for my appearance. People are starting to sneeze so Gaius needed some help today, and I didn't want to be late."

"Nonsense, you should know I would wait the whole night for you."

Gwen smiled, walking forward as Arthur took her hand and pulled the chair for her. "It has been a while since we did this."

_I know,_ Arthur thought guiltily.

The food was very good. The chicken had been roasted carefully with lemon juice and onions, with a side of boiled potatoes and carrots which tasted great whenever he took a bite. Swallowing the food, he looked over at Gwen, licking his lips in search for words.

"I know we haven't seen much of each other, lately."

"Are you feeling bad about that? You shouldn't, I know it must be hard, being regent and all." Gwen's words were soft and Arthur lowered his fork.

"I wouldn't have done it without you, you've been of so much help."

"I did nothing Arthur."

"You..."

"Nothing than any other servant wouldn't have done, you know that." Her words were true, and her smile gentle, taking away from the harshness of those facts.

Shaking his head, Arthur poked at his food for a bit, trying to think of something else to say. Gwen's company had always intrigued him, and it had always been pleasant, but now, the conversation felt so brittle, their worlds so disconnected he was not sure where to go from there. Shoving a carrot into his mouth, he chewed on it carefully, while Gwen looked around his chambers. The silence bothered him.

He started to say something only for her to do the same. They stopped, started again and burst into laughter when the action repeated itself. Arthur shook his head. "Sorry, I remember this being easier."

"What was easier, talking to me or charming girls?" He felt a blush rising to his cheeks, before he could even think of a retort.

"I'll have you know that there weren't as many girls as rumors might say." He was well aware of some of the gossip that run around about him.

"I understand, Arthur, believe me."

He nodded, he could guess that. He remembered how the death of her father had affected her presence in the castle, people had whispered about her allegiances, about what secrets she might have. He also remembered that Morgana had been the one to come to him to stop those, but that fact was enough to diminish his appetite. Quickly he changed the subject.

"I must admit, I always understood how much pressure my father was under, wearing the crown, but this." He paused, frowning. "It seems my attention is required every single moment of the day. Just this afternoon I learned there are four keeps whose lords died without heirs. Four. My father had named them just after Cenred's first attack and now I have to name them again."

"That is horrible." Gwen said. "Those battles, they hurt us badly, didn't they?"

Too late, Arthur realized he might have ruined the mood again. He sighed tiredly. "Things will settle down though."

"Arthur." She was looking at him through her eyelashes, her brown eyes were captivating. "I understand our situation very well, you don't have to hide it from me, you know?"

"I know!" He hurried to say. "I mean, I do know that, but I wished we could keep things happy between us."

Her smile was sad. "I understand, believe me, I do, but I'm afraid that would be a lot like lying, won't it? As much as we wish, the world still exists outside these chambers."

She was right of course. He couldn't play pretend, that wasn't something a responsible ruler should do. It was dangerous, it could make him blind to important matters, but that didn't stop him from grasping straws of joy where he could find.

"Even so, I was thinking, if perhaps you wouldn't enjoy to get away for a while. A horse ride, before the snows."

Gwen blinked. "Is that wise? Won't there be rumors?"

"Rumors?"

"Yes, I mean, people will speak about there been something between us, won't they?"

He paused, considering his next words. "Isn't there? Something between us?"

"Perhaps." Her smile was sad. "If we ever find the time to figure that out, but I know how that would seem. I'm lowborn, Arthur, and you're a prince, as much as love is sweet, I'm not sure..."

"I told my father once that I would only ever marry for love, Gwen, and I intend to keep that promise."

"Arthur..." The food was still half eaten, but the way she spoke was soft, that tilt of her head a familiar sight that comforted him in a way. "You know, I don't mind hearing about your day Arthur, who knows, perhaps I might even offer good counsel."

He blinked, she seemed determined. Whatever was unsaid, these promises that they had implied to one another, he hoped with every fiber of his being that he might keep them, because as he cleared his throat, he realized how much he also needed her.

"Well, in that case, you should hear what Lord Cygnus proposes as a new taxes policy..."

* * *

** "O drakon, e male soi ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!"**

Usually, Merlin would barely feel the wait for the dragon's arrival, but on that day he caught himself pacing the clearing, his thoughts in wild jumbles as every breath seemed to take forever.

Already he had grown impatient, having to wait for the right opportunity. Camelot had been so busy with incoming caravans, travelers and supplies he couldn't risk calling a dragon so close to the citadel. Today though, since Arthur would spend his night with Gwen, he finally found a proper timing to call for counsel, something he was in much need of.

Gaius had done his best of course, urging him to be careful because they had no idea of Morgause's real intentions, but Merlin could tell the physician was as scared as he felt. Besides, it seemed very obvious to him that Morgause and Morgana's intentions were anything but good. They would use their magic against Camelot like they had done time and again, and he would have to be the one standing between Arthur and how many allies they could muster.

It was frustrating, it angered him. Arthur was already ruling but it seemed that magic would only be a tool of the enemy, forever used for evil and eroding the chances of opening Arthur's eyes so he could build Albion as it should be.

He was so wrapped in his thoughts, he barely felt the ground trembling under the weight of the Great Dragon.

"Greetings, young warlock."

"Took you a while"

"You think I would resist a dragonlord's call? As a warlock you should better learn to see the rhythm of the world itself, Merlin." The dragon seemed amused, taking him in. "You seem anxious."

"I have reason to be."

"Why? Is it the makings of a kingdom already too much for you to handle?"

"No, I..." He paused, blinking at the dragon's calm demeanor. "You don't know."

Kilgharrah cocked his head to the side, ancient eyes narrowing behind the night. "What is it, Merlin, that I don't know?"

"Morgana"

"The witch has lost an important battle, it is within reason that she would need time to recover."

Merlin shook his head. He remembered the last time he saw her, in the throne room of Camelot, bursting into it like a storm of pure magic, saving her sister and disappearing from sight. He remembered her eyes then, pale green and dangerous. Even after he tried to kill her, even after he learned of her shifting loyalties, he had never seen such crystallized hatred in her eyes. Slowly, he explained everything to Kilgharrah, how he felt on that day and how Morgause's voice spoke in his mind, summoning those with magic to somewhere in the east. He even told him about the news of Amata that Arthur received.

"… Now I'm worried, if she killed a king already, what will stop her from killing more? What is she even doing? Is she gathering forces to attack Camelot? Do you think she will come after Arthur? Everyone thought she would remain quiet, but now she is making her moves and not even hiding, why?"

"I don't know, Merlin, but beware. Nothing good can come from the ambitions of the witch, she was always destined to stand between the present and the bright future of Albion."

"What should I do? What if she actually gains the loyalty of other sorcerers?"

"I know it must pain you, young warlock, but just like a moth to a flame, some sorcerers will indeed find the witch's methods attractive." The dragon lowered his head mournfully. "I myself have tasted vengeance and fallen to it. It will be up to you to face them, just as you faced every other threat to Camelot."

Merlin knew that. Heck, he had long stopped regretting the killing of people like him, who had magic pulsing in their souls. He wasn't naive anymore. Those people, they were often twisted, immersed in their own hatred, not carrying who got hurt that got in their way. Morgana herself had killed how many innocents already? Suddenly, he remembered pleading with her in the catacombs as the Rowan Staff pulsed with power behind her.

_"Morgana, please, I beg you. Woman and children are dying, the city will fall."_

_She had barely paused before answering, the word spilling from her lips like the poison he had once given her. "Good"_

Merlin knew better now.

"I'll be ready."

"Be sure of it, Merlin, for a confrontation is inevitable." Kilgharrah unfolded his wings, his shadow covering the clearing as he raised his eyes to the skies. "I shall, in turn, keep my perception sharp. If I hear anything, you'll know."

"Thanks."

When the dragon disappeared, Merlin remained, still, in the night. He had half of mind of following the path Morgause's call had showed him, walk east and north until his instincts told him of the right place, just to understand. But doing that would mean leaving Camelot, and that he couldn't do, or else he risked becoming the new town's drunk with Gaius' tavern excuses. As he debated the future with himself, he felt something in the air, and caught a glimpse of a tiny white speckle landing upon his hand. The snowflake felt cold as it melted in his body heat.

As more of them showed up, cast from the sky to cover the land, Merlin reflected on everything that happened since he came to Camelot, his fights. Of all his enemies, none of them understood that violence would never be the way. Arthur was.

The prince was the key to freeing magic and uniting Albion, and it was Merlin's destiny to protect him.

* * *

##################


	13. LATE HOURS

**LATE HOURS  
**

* * *

During her life, Morgause had seen many armies bivouacking after a long march. Cenred's army, when it rested, could cover the land as far as the eye could see, with fires burning so strong the night would seem to vanish and the voices of men carried out like thousands of angry bees, drunk on promises of blood and riches.

In comparison, the camp in front of her was remarkably small. It spread over the valley like spilled wine, with shelters fire pits protecting men from the cold, since the number of tents was noticeably small. Above them, waving in the air, were the banners of war. Blue ox, pack of dogs, yellow snakes, bloody axes and towers in as many colors as there were unimaginative men in the world, but what called for her gaze was the scarlet tree against dark cloth, sheltering the closest part of the camp to her position and where her people would be.

The scouts that had sighed her two days ago now formed around her flanks, their mounts eager for food and rest as much as herself as they entered the camp. A sudden flood of magic told her she had just passed through a ward, coming from the other side unharmed and curious. The men escorting her were clearly uncomfortable here, despite the beard and age, they were like green boys and her presence didn't go unnoticed judging by the stares. They could probably feel the touches of lingering magic from her call. She had been brief then, with the Dochraid keeping the magic running through the Rowan Staff, which had turned to dust upon the completion of her task. Her hands still held the mark of the power, seared into her skin in twin stripes, but they didn't bother her as much as the parting words from the old creature.

Instead of focusing on that, Morgause chose to watch the druid marks and robes amidst men holding swords and spears. She saw a group of about two dozen women all chanting in their own circle, while over their small camp, a improvised banner with the mark of the brendui flew free in the wind. All around her, she could see them, and feel their magic. Sorcerers. Both boys and girls young enough to understand their gifts, and old men and women who fled and hid. Weak, simple, untaught, they came in all kinds and shapes and the world seemed to pulse with their presence. They were all working hard too, judging by the activity. Ditches were dug, kitchens were erected and even a prisoner's camp seemed to be in use on the far side. Here and there, Morgause glimpsed groups mixing poultices, and powders, while arrows and bolts were assembled under whispers of enchantments.

"They're in there, my lady." They had brought her deep into the camp it seemed, to a large dark tent that was probably designed as a meeting place. Dismounting, she pushed her reins towards the man who spoke, adjusted the gloves around her hands and walked past the guards, no bothering to hear what they had to say.

She had little time to catch the wisps of conversation as the voices fell shut, with every eye suddenly moving to her figure. Only the pale green were welcome, as her sister rose from her chair at the head of the table. Morgause smiled, studying the people around her. From one glimpse she could tell who had magic and who didn't. The nobles of Essetir stood all to her right, a woman with a blue ox on her dress, a young lad, and two older man, their clothes dark and plain. Ahead of them all was a tall middle aged man with three yellow snakes on his doublet, and a scar marring a long brooding face, which bristled right upon her entrance.

"Who dares to interrupt our meeting? Do you wish to be put on stocks woman?"

"She is my sister, Lord Madoc." Her sister's clarification had the benefit of making the man blink dumbly, but he made no effort to apologize.

"High Priestess Morgause, it is an honor to meet you." The man who spoke bore the druid sigil on the side his neck, his balding head and manners almost making her disregard the warrior's gaze that studied her with sharp interest. "I'm Ruadan, if you please."

"Ruadan, you're a druid."

"Haven't been for a long time, I'm afraid."

Morgause nodded, she could understand the story well enough, it was an old and very common tale.

"Well, I'll be dammed" The second man on her sister's side was a bit taller and clearly more unabashed, his eyes had a curious glint to them that Morgause immediately didn't like. "I didn't know you had a sister, my lady."

"There are many things you don't know about me, Alvarr." Morgana said motioning to the rest of the meeting. "I think we can all agree that we need a break from our discussions. If you would be so kind I would receive my sister now, for I missed her so."

"I'll say, we have much to think about." The redhaired woman claimed, whispering something to her sister before offering her arm to the lad. "What say we have supper together, Lord Trito? Our parents knew each other if I recall."

"O-of course, my lady."

Upon leaving, the woman nodded her way, and the rest of the occupants hesitantly followed.

When the tent was finally empty, Morgause, at last, felt her sister's arms around her, the hug being something she didn't realized she missed. "I take it everything is well."

"As well as can be expected I think."

Morgause nodded. "I saw a camp of prisoners out there. Is Lot really that close or did you get in trouble while I was gone?"

"Those are renegades, actually. Their leader tried to kill me."

"What!?"

Her question was very close to a screech, but her sister simply moved over to a small table with a silver flagon. "Can I offer you anything? Wine? You must be tired."

"What do you mean someone tried to kill you? Explain!"

"It wasn't something I couldn't handle. She had tried once, in my other life. I took care of it." She paused, furrowing her brow as if thinking of something else. "No one died."

"That is no excuse, how can we fight to free magic when our own people are trying to kills us?"

Morgana shook her head. "Our people are not trying to kill us. The woman had personal reasons, very good ones."

"She better be dead, whoever she might be."

"Her magic is sealed."

"Sealed?" Morgause studied Morgana carefully. She wanted to press, but the way her sister seemed to sag all of the sudden, made her balk. It was clear then that she wouldn't back down, she would have better luck asking a stranger about what happened. "Just, gimme some of that wine, would you?"

"It's Lady Cerys', she sent us plenty of supplies and her prayers."

Morgause took the offered cup and frowned as her sister poured herself the rich scented red. "No men?"

"No, not everyone wants to compromise. Lord Belmont sent us pretty much all the gray beards from his lands, with no sigils and no way to be tracked back to him. He is probably just getting rid of useless mouths, but I won't complain. No one wants to risk Lot's wrath if we lose. On the other hand the big man you saw was Lord Madoc. As soon as he heard of our movements, he rode south away from the border and promised to fight by our side, as long as he is allowed to be king of his own lands."

"And here I was thinking it would take longer for kings to start popping up." The wine was good, it burned deliciously and eased her nerves as she nodded along, carefully storing the information for later. She would need to make acquaintance of these people herself in whatever short time they had. "So, considering we only have part of a already crippled country, how many men do we have?"

"Last count was a little over five thousand." Her sister took a piece of scroll from the table and read along. "Three hundred horse, a thousand bowmen, and the rest are our dear pitchforks and scythes, with some swords and spears thrown into the mix."

_Too few_, was Morgause's first thought, even before she uttered her next question. "And the enemy?"

"Twenty thousand men, or as many as to make no difference. All trained killers." Morgana grimaced. "We received word that he reached the border yesterday. Apparently King Bayard was all too happy to let him through his kingdom. He is marching fast, pillaging the countryside and leaving the keeps behind."

"He wants to take Cenred's castle."

"And we are standing right in his way."

Morgause downed her wine quickly and poured herself another cup. Her sister seemed amused, but she couldn't see the fun in it. Her whole life she fought when victory was, at least, close to certain. She never dared to have a smaller army, or any disadvantage at all. Whenever she struck at Camelot she had done so after careful planning and consideration, taking into account every factor, but even with that they had failed. Now here she was, at the edge of winter, with a way too bold sister, who someone already tried to kill while she was away, and the Dochraid's blabbering echoing in her ears.

"This is madness."

"You haven't heard about our own people yet." Morgana picked up another scroll. "There are more than two hundred sorcerers out there, among brendui, druids and renegades. We called, and they came. Can't you feel their magic around you? When was the last time you felt this much power in one place?"

_Helva_. Morgause thought, shivering at the memory alone. "I can't recall"

"And there are more arriving everyday."

"But we can't really wait too much, can we?"

"No" Morgana bit at her lower lip, and moved the maps over the table, placing a piece of carved wood on one side. "Our original plan was to meet him in the north, now we only have this night to decide where to make our stand. After that it will be impossible to get ahead of Lot."

"I take the discussion I interrupted was about that."

"Yes, I heard enough blabbering about hills to last a lifetime, I'll tell you that." Morgana adjusted the maps, and Morgause watched the lines that traced the land of Essetir. They seemed very rich and detailed, and were probably the work of some highly skilled map maker. "Lord Madoc thinks we have to attack, cross the river Nyn, steal a march and fall upon Lot under the cover of the night. Alvarr, between his rants about Uther, keeps suggesting we divide our forces and eat at his army little by little. Lady Elaine wants to take Cenred's Castle and force a siege and Ruadan wants battle, but speaks of caution."

Morgause closed her eyes, in her mind she could see each of those plans, and all the possible difficulties they would bring. Catching an army by surprise, one of mercenaries and experienced warriors at that, was damn near impossible. A war of attrition would only bring them to a situation close to what happened in Camelot whenever a small band became big enough to be a threat, and Cenred's Castle was too big to be defended by five thousand peasants. No, they needed one single battle, something decisive that would be the equivalent of a war cry, a show of power that would even bring the cowards to their side. She was sure Morgana had already considered all that.

"I think this is the right time for you to take control." Morgause pointed out. "What is your plan, dear sister?"

Morgana smirked. "I thought you would never ask. We know that Lot wants his uncle's seat, so we use his hurry against him."

What followed was an strategy that was both as bold and daring as Morgana would feel sometimes. It had careless edges, that Morgause helped smooth, and dangerous gambles she tempered with her own experience. They had pieces for sorcerers, warriors and what small cavalry they had. Men were moved upon the board according to their abilities and power, enchantments were discussed that could turn the tide of battle. It caused arguments, and teasing, but when they were done, the wine was gone, night had fallen and there was no doubt it was the best battle plan they could come up with.

"I must say, we could use more men, and I would feel a lot better if you had a vision about tomorrow." Morgause looked up, but her sister was still silent. In her ear, there were whispers. "Except you can't see the future, can you?"

Her sister frowned, clutching the bracelet to her wrist. "How did you know?"

"The Dochraid told me." She revealed, remembering the presence of the old creature that lingered on the cave, just on the edge of the sun. She had been about to leave when more words were offered in that raspy dreadful voice. "I also haven't felt much in the sense of visions. I'm starting to think it has something to do with your death."

Morgana nodded as she plopped down on her chair, her hands playing with a sloppy piece carved with a rowan tree. "What do you think?"

"It's like I told you before, what you experienced is unheard of."

"But you must have some ideas."

"I might, but I would rather keep them to myself for now." Her sister blinked her way and chuckled, her fingers tapping on the table to a tuneless song. Morgause herself could feel the buzz of the alcohol like a pleasant poultice against the cold. "The one who tried to kill you, how many are following her?"

"About thirty people." Morgana leaned back, looking upwards to where the roof of the tent shook with small burst of wind, her dark hair falling over her shoulders in unkempt waves. "She is just a girl."

"We could use her men." She snapped her fingers, feeling her hands sweaty inside the leather. "You said she tried this before, in your other life, but now you sealed her magic instead of having her killed, why?"

Morgana shrugged, getting to her feet. "We should call the council back, we need to get this army moving before dawn."

* * *

She watched the beetle crawling into the earth, small and fragile and completely oblivious to how quickly she could kill it.

Around her, she sunk into the music of shouts, horses and iron. There was a lot of movement going on, at least as far as she could see under the light of torches. She saw people running here and there, dismounting shelters and whatnot, the song of a dismantling camp and Mauren enjoyed the distraction to test the ropes one more time, reaching with her senses only to find her magic as silent as a hibernating bear. The bloody woman knew how to do her spells it seemed, because the poppet she used to bind her powers wasn't even close by. Sighing, she could only sink back to her knees, leaning against the pole she was tied to, her men seeming to lower their shoulders in sync at her actions._  
_

Cursing to herself, Mauren considered their situation. They were arrested in a enemy camp, surrounded by people who had sent her evil looks as soon as they learned of her attempt. Her men had known, they had followed her bravely, just like they followed her brother once. Of course, that loyalty itself had a price, for not one of them reacted when she was dragged out of the woman's tent with a sword at her throat. They loved her too much to risk her life. Now, now she could only straighten her shoulders and show them that she wasn't giving in, even if death was to be her destiny. They couldn't listen to her, been too far, so instead of words she had to show them strength.

With that in mind, Mauren took a deep breath, raising her gaze only to gasp at the sight of the silent sorceress standing in front of her. The hush of silence around indicated that her men had seen her as well, but they couldn't possibly know how it felt to have those pale eyes staring them down, much like in the tent.

It had all gone according to plan until that point.

As soon as she heard the name of Morgana Pendragon, Mauren had known what she needed to do. She had presented herself as an ally, just like many other sorcerers she saw arriving each day, hoping against hope that she would be granted the right opportunity. Yet, somehow, the woman had lived after downing a whole cup of poisoned wine. Somehow those green eyes didn't have need of words to paralyze her. Somehow, justice had been denied to her, and she cursed the world for it.

Now, well, now there was a horrible taste in her mouth that Mauren used to spit at the woman's feet. "Cunt."

"Were you really aiming at my feet?" She smirked as a response and, to her surprise, the priestess merely nodded. Behind her, the Blood Guards stood carved by shadows, as if even the light of the torches dared not to touch them. "Your trick with the poison, It was quite smart. Had you made your attempt a few days ago I might gladly haven taken it."

"You did drink it." Mauren pointed out.

"Warding my body from poison was the first thing I learned to do when my powers grew strong enough."

Mauren huffed. That explained it, if she was a fully realized High Priestess, then mortal means were mostly useless against her. "Now what? Are you going to kill me?"

"I have no wish of killing tonight."

Mauren was skeptical, she nodded to the camp around them. "Funny you should say that while bringing all those idiots to slaughter."

"All that I want is to bring freedom to our people." She looked almost like a girl when she sat down on the dirty, her skit pooling around her legs. "This alliance is the key. Right now, there are more sorcerers fighting together than in any of the last twenty years. We only need one victory, and our people will be free. They will have a home, and no one will need to fear for their lives and that of their loved ones."

"Oh please" Mauren barked. She was hungry and cold, but she wasn't stupid. "I've been here for a few days now and I've watched your alliance, my lady. Do you really think it will bare any fruit? Sure, you might defeat Lot, but then what? Those sorcerers might flock to you now, but that is just because they have been in the dark for so long a speck of light is enough to get them moving. Those nobles, selfish and cowards as they are, they will turn away from you as soon as Lot is gone. There isn't some high ideal uniting this army. You picked up scraps of broken people and stitched them together with a thread of despair."

Morgana cocked her head, considering her for a moment and Mauren prepared herself for a string of curses. She wasn't afraid of dying, not under the blade of a red cloaked knight, and not at the hands of that killer, but her answer came in the form of a simple statement. "You're right."

"What?"

"Only a mad person hears the truth and twists it. You're right, everything you said, except for one thing." Mauren fidgeted, feeling the complaint from her muscles. That woman sounded way too reasonable. "They might be united by despair, for now, but you can't be sure that it will always be like this. Uther brought our kind to the edge, and the nobles see us as tools, and it's imperative that change must come, dangerous as it is. You think this whole thing will end in disaster, but what if you're wrong? It won't be easy, but what if there is actual peace and prosperity waiting on the other side?"

Now Mauren had to laugh. "That is rich coming from you." She struggled against her bonds, pulling at the ropes so she could glare at Morgana even from her knees. "You! The woman who had a chance of ridding the world of Camelot's knights and instead shot a bunch of peasants! The woman who was Uther Pendragon's precious ward and did nothing for years! The woman who put a dagger in my brother's back!"

She watched that face for any reaction, but it remained as still as a water mirror, and then... "I'm sorry."

For a moment, Mauren didn't understand what had been said. The Lady Morgana was still there, and that was clearly her voice, but the words didn't quite seem real enough, and when they became so they only enraged her.

"Sorry? You bitch!" There was now a familiar sting behind Mauren's eyes. That woman was mocking her, and it was worse than if she had died. _How dared she?_ "How dare you say those words?! You took my brother from me! You took him!"

"I did."

They were only two words. There was no denial, no excuses, only admission. And just like that Mauren felt something inside her snap, she lunged forward with her magic, the words like a roar, and yet, despite everything, nothing happened. She struggled and pushed and Morgana Pendragon barely felt a lock of that unkempt hair moving. Her magic was deaf to her plight and as that fact hit her she slumped against her bonds. Overwhelming, her failure seemed to swallow her whole. Panting, Mauren stared down at the ground, swallowing back her frustration like a piece of coal down to her beating heart. The soil was worn between her knees, and there was the beetle again, crawling out of the dirty she had unwittingly disturbed. Its leg was broken and the little thing limped away, fragile, determined and oblivious.

"I wanted to go with him that day, did you know? I didn't trust you. To me you seemed just like a little girl, desperate to do things in a world you barely understood. Tauren didn't trust you either. He told me so, but it was such a good chance, he said. In one day, with one blow we would end the terror that was Camelot." Something uncomfortable had dislodged away from her chest, she felt lightheaded and unable to stop. "I waited, and when the men returned they were so few. They had been lucky. Something happened, they couldn't remember what, but they were knocked unconscious. The Knights of Camelot didn't care, those who didn't wake up were killed with their eyes still closed. I had to hear about my brother's death from the survivors, and then from the realm. The heroic tale of the Lady Morgana saving her guardian. The glorious end to the criminal Tauren. My brother's head was rotting atop of Camelot's walls and I was hearing songs about you."

She witnessed a few drops falling down on the ground, tears that she thought had dried up long ago, and the sight disgusted her. To shed them in front of an enemy was more shameful than anything else. Around her, the breeze touched her, cold and sharp and impartial. On the edge of her vision, she could feel the woman's presence, the flaring of a light and then the ropes falling away from her wrists. Her magic returned immediately, like blood rushing towards a numb limb, but still Mauren didn't move.

"I told you I had no wish to kill anyone." There was a pause while Mauren hesitantly rubbed her wrists, a thousand spells racing through her mind, to break necks, and slice veins, all deadly. "I do however have an offer that I can make you."

Mauren waited.

"You're free to go, however, you and your men could be invaluable in the coming fight. So I'll make you a deal. You take part in the battle, and when it is over, you can kill me."

The beetle was still moving towards the High Priestess and being completely unaware of the force it was approaching. Mauren looked away from it, boldly, she met the sorceress' gaze, crowned by falling snowflakes that she only now noticed. There was something oddly familiar in those eyes, it almost seemed like regret. "Are you joking?"

"Not at all. Anytime after the battle, you can come to me and take my life, I won't even resist."

"If you're a High Priestess, you're not easy to kill."

"That will be up to you, won't it?" Saying that, the woman picked up a knife.

Mauren only understood a few of the words, but she could grasp the binding of an enchanted oath, the intentions passing between them as swiftly as a river. There was no hiding that Morgana Pendragon was speaking the truth, and Mauren had no idea how to react to that but by wiping her tears. In front of her, the High Priestess stopped short of getting up, she fished something from the ground and whispered a simple word. The Beetle crawled away, completely healed, and Mauren sat down, alone in her open cell, wondering about safety, and love and images of a dead Morgana.

* * *

##################


	14. MORGANA

**MORGANA  
**

* * *

It was a cold day, of autumn leaves and lingering summer rains.

"She is beautiful" spoke Lord Gorlois, swirling over her vision with eyes that were gentle and full of wonder, his hand reaching out to gently caress her cheek.

"Yes, our little fairy." Lady Vivienne looked nothing like the paintings that had hanged from Tintagel's walls, but Morgana recognized her all the same, tall and regal, hair like Morgause's.

"Our daughter." Her father frowned. "She is going to be safe."

Her mother stilled, her face falling completely as she looked away and her father noticed, it seemed. Bound by the memory, she could do nothing but watch as the man held her firm under her apologies.

"I should've never… There was no other way..."

"It doesn't matter! Vivienne, my love, it doesn't matter. As long as he believes, Morgana is safe, that matters." They spoke softly and then without words, something passing between them, like a secret language that only true caring could conjure.

The memory disappeared, and Morgana felt the gushing laughter of her childhood filling her lungs, while the wonders painted before her eyes seemed to glow with morning due. Nights passed by her in storms of heroic tales, of knights and maidens and raging beasts defeated by noble heroes.

"Can I be a knight one day?" She had asked her father, his kind eyes were amused.

"Well, Camelot's code allows only for noblemen to become knights."

"So... I can't?"

"I didn't say that" Gorlois answered with a chuckle. "You see, being a knight is about more than wielding a sword, it's about doing the right thing even when is hard. It's about defending the weak, and protecting the innocent, it's about speaking the truth and being brave. As long as you follow those ideals, I don't see why you can't be your own knight."

"You think mother would have let me?"

"I think, she would want you to be happy, more than anything."

And she hugged him, her heart comforted, but her eyes hovering over the chair that was never used, belonging to a woman she knew only the shadow. Growing up, her mother might as well have been a character from a book, so well known through illustrations and the words of other people. Not that she had much time to dwell on that unkown ache that would appear sometimes. As a noble daughter she learned dancing, sewing, manners and conversation with wise old tutors who tittered and complained. You're late, young lady. Pay attention, young lady. Don't curse, young lady. One morning, her father put a practice sword in her hands, and she had one more thing to learn. You're late, young lady. Pay attention, young lady. Put your weight behind the swing, young lady.

It was a flowery spring morning, and war whispered in the ears of men.

Her nightmare had her running from her chambers, passing the guards in desperate steps until she reached her father's solar. She threw herself at him, pleading and begging him not go, to not leave her alone, for she had seen him in the battlefield, dead and rotting.

Her father, so wise, offered her a ghost of a smile, showing the wrinkles around his eyes and the dips of his cheeks. "Oh Morgana, you don't understand, child. The people are suffering under Caerleon's attack, and If I don't bring my army north, innocents will die. People just like you and me."

"But what if you die!?" She had asked.

"Sometimes we have to do the right thing, Morgana, despite the consequences. If I am to die for the right cause, then I would be proud of it" She didn't want him to be proud, she wanted him alive. "I'll have you know though, that your old father has been to many a battle before. I'll come back."

He did come back in the end, that much was true. Gorlois returned to his seat in a casket of oak, draped with his noble coat of arms, three roaring lions between an ancient scarlet rune. He remained only for a vigil before Uther Pendragon took him away, to be buried on a proper place. She would come with, for her father had been a dear friend and she would need guidance and safety, but his eyes were not as soft as his words, they were fearful and hard. On the way to Camelot, she promised to never replace her father with the King, even if he could make her curious with his boisterous stories.

She met Prince Arthur in the courtyard. He was small, covered in furs that made him waddle instead of walking, with a golden chain that hanged low on his belly. She did everything right, even the proper courtesies, but she would met him for real after he came running into her chambers, scared of the storms.

The day was fresh and smelt of spring.

She beat the prince in a sword fight that same morning, and took pleasure in the way his eyes widened before her victory. She had run to tell his father, it would certainly teach him not to underestimate her again. Upon learning of her antics though, Uther forbid her from fighting, saying her lessons would be closely supervised from that moment on. _This behavior is inappropriate_, he claimed. That night, as she cried in bed, the Prince came to see her, wondering if they could practice in secret, a brush with rebellion the likes she thought incapable of. That night, she went to sleep much later, sore, bruised and reliving the scene of the boy falling on his butt time and again.

"You cheated!" He would accuse her, all righteous and pompous.

"Not my fault you're so bad at this." She said back and after giggling a little more, she reached out to help him to his feet.

Their bond grew inside the white stone of Camelot, little by little, in the easy way that children often did many other things, until they became tall, and he reached her height and suddenly she had to keep it a secret that she found him handsome.

_Bring back memories of when I used to beat you?_

_That never happened!_

The day was bright, hot as only summer could be.

Uther presented her with a new maid. She was a shy little thing, of wild brown curls and an endearing smile that was often aimed at the ground. A friend, her mind had supplied before anything else had reached her.

"I'm Morgana, what is your name?"

"Guinevere, if it pleases you, m-my lady." She curtsied, risked a peek at her face.

"Guinevere, that is a pretty name." Her old self had reached for the girl's hands, bringing her to seat on her bed.

"A-actually, my friends call me Gwen… I-I mean.. I'm sorry… I..."

"It's all right, Gwen." She needed a moment to realized the use of the nickname, and Morgana had felt her heart warming up. She showed her around her chamber, related the newest gossip around the court, and finally sent her home with new fabric as an welcome gift.

_...She is more than just my maid. She's my friend!_

The night was warm, suffocating, unlike the cold in her stomach.

The bark of Uther's hunting party echoed across the whole of Camelot to announce its return, but she was too tired to hear about blood and dead animals. Occasionally she would accompany guests into the woods, fulfilling her duties as lady of the castle, but whether she was holding a hawk or a crossbow the activity never held much appeal.

He had rasped his knuckles on her door almost shyly, and when he finally stepped through, she took in the droplets of blood on his blond locks, and the red smears covering his boots and breeches. Not a word was spoken when she let him in, cleaning him up even as he stood motionless under her touch. Uther had taken him out, to draw blood and be a man, but Arthur was never the sort. No, at least not back then. When he received a spear and a horse, and rode forth to kill, he was but a lad.

"What kind of prince would I be if I balked at the sight of blood?"

"The good kind, one that didn't vomit in my chamber pot." She said, listening to his chuckle. He was warm and the night was hot so her furs lay discarded on the ground.

"It was just a doe." Arthur mumbled then, shaking his head. "There was just so much blood."

"It was a doe, of course there would be blood."

"The dogs, and then the men… They took the skin out and then…" Arthur drifted of, and Morgana felt his hands holding her closer, tighter, and she still held him. Somehow, they wouldn't part until much later, and it was only to meet his eyes in the morning, his hair tussled from sharing her pillow. They had been so young then, already of age, and yet young. She wanted to snap away from that memory, to brush it away with a passing hand and storming fists, but Morgause's potion did its job and there was nothing to be done as she relived the moment when they came together in a desperate, hungry kiss.

The days were cold and smelled of ash.

Sorcerers were meant to be burned, criminals, heretics and traitors all of them. Magic is evil, people would say all around her, it corrupted the soul and brought chaos, but as she watched more executions happening before her eyes, by the axe or the fire, she wondered why everyone spoke of the magic instead of the people doing it and then, finally the word spread of a great victory. Singers were hired, a feast was prepared and men boasted about their killing until the sight of them made her sick.

Arthur rasped at her door again, but this time the blood hadn't come from a doe. She asked only if it was true, the rumors about his special mission, and when he asked for comfort, comfort he was so desperate for, she turned away. His despair was all the answer she needed. He tried to apologize, as if the wounded was her and not the dead he made that night.

"Father, he told me to, he..."

"Arthur" She couldn't bring herself to say more under the weight of her horror, and she couldn't stand there and listen to him lying to himself either. Uther told him to raid the druid camp, now he might as well live with it. She couldn't see his face, she almost wanted him to suffer. "Leave."

That night she cried in Gwen's arms, blaming her moon's blood instead of the real reason, because she was not sure how to explain why the death of sorcerers caused her such grief. In time, she would forgive Arthur, in time she would learn to hide her tears and they would slowly drift into an easy friendship once more, but when her nightmares begun anew, when her magic finally dared to rise, she would remember his bloody clothes and clumsy denials. In her most desperate hour, she would remember his voice saying_"Father told me to."_

The day was blue, sunny, and it smelled of rot.

The axe fell, a head rolled over the flagstone and away from the body, and Mary Collins' cry of grief struck Morgana like a stone to the heart.

"An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A son for a son."

Of course, the woman's pain never brought her the vengeance she desired. A young boy was there to stop it. With a silly grin and a tall lanky frame, he had saved Arthur's life and from that point on, there was someone new in her life, yet again, but how could she have known that she would miss the rare suppers where Uther and Arthur seemed almost like family?

_...He is a lover._

She watched him his big ears and simple bravery. She watched him, his help and kindness and courage to help her smuggle a small druid boy away from Camelot. She watched him, ready to give his life for Arthur, for Gwen. She watched him and when the time came she rode forth from Camelot, sure of intent.

It was the one moment they had been all together, four souls all united to protect Merlin's home, because that was just the power he had back then, to unite them all in common cause. They had all fought, together with the villagers, the victory tinged by grief, but a victory nonetheless.

In Ealdor they stood their ground, and in Ealdor she had been sure of their noble purpose, and they were unbeatable.

Friends.

The word brushed her thoughts, painting her life until she heard Gwen's wails of grief echoing across Camelot, sending sparks to lit something inside her, something that had been smoldering for years but never taken shape until that moment.

_I picked these for you_. Gwen told her, smiling with a bunch of flowers in her hands.

The day was gray, hot and oppressing.

She stormed into the council chamber to face the King of Camelot.

"You have blood on your hands, Uther Pendragon! Blood that will never wash off!"

"May I remind you, that you're speaking to your king?"

"May I remind you, that a king is wise and just? You're neither. You act only with the sword."

"You know nothing of what it means to be king. The fate of Camelot rests in my hands. It's my responsibility to protect the people from this land from its enemies"

"Then the kingdom is doomed, for one by one you make enemies of us all!"

"You speak treason, Morgana."

"Only a mad man hears the truth as treason."

"Take care child, or I'll have you restrained."

"You just try."

Heavy chains locked around her wrist, tight as they were, they chaffed her skin until it was angry red and painful.

Arthur's face is grieving and pleading all at once, it was cold and warm and cold again, but never the uncertainty of their relationship had been so evident as the moment she walked out of her cell.

"You're a better man than your father. Always were."

And he was. He was, of course he was, she had always believed it so, even when he was acting like a prick, because she had seen it. The small acts of kindness and chivalry that he would practice when no one else was looking, as if a good heart was something to be ashamed of.

"You cannot face this! Please, Arthur. I have seen terrible things! You cannot go!"

He was dying and she cried. He was dying and she felt sorrow. He was dying and she stood at the door, wishing to see him, to feel him, to maybe replicate the actions of a night long ago. He was dying and she felt nothing. He was dying and she wanted him dead. He was dying, but she was already dead.

_My Lady_, he said, offering his arm witch she was all to glad to grab.

_My Champion._

The day was rainy and her nightmare had begun.

The fire brushed over her curtains and her window blew out into the storm. Looking back, it seemed appropriate enough. Because after that her fear spread through her like wildfire, turning her life into ashes. She felt it all over again. The desperation the uncertainty, the growing frustration whenever Gaius looked her in the eyes and offered another potion, and suddenly, she was once more in those quarters, staring into the blue eyes of a brave, innocent servant.

"...You can trust me, Morgana. You know you can."

And she had. By the Goddess, she trusted him. She was alone, and scared and she had known Merlin at that point. In front of her stood the same young man who risked his life for Arthur time and again. The same man who once marched to Uther Pendragon's face and said he had magic, for Gwen. Surely, surely, she was one of them, she was a friend as well, she was there in Ealdor as well. Surely she deserved the same protection.

Aglain's face was gentle, his words knowing and wise, as it became clear that Uther Pendragon didn't deserve his rage.

"You shouldn't be scared of Uther. You should pity him."

"Pity? Why?"

"Because he's a broken man, consumed by fear. His hatred of magic has driven goodness from his heart."

"I've always been taught that magic is evil, that it corrupts your soul."

"Uther told you this. Just because he decrees it, doesn't make it so. In time you will learn that magic isn't a dark art that must be shrouded in secrecy. It can be a force for good."

But Aglain was dead, just like many others now and Arthur, who was brave, and kind and strong stood in her mind like he had in her chambers before. Covered in the blood of innocent people. She drifted away. No explanation, no fights, she simply slipped into the mask that was Lady Morgana of the court, and let her smiles become brittle, her manners becoming her armor and her cage.

The day was red, and even at night she could feel the hands of the Witchfinder closing around her.

"I'm all right, Arthur, I promise. Need I remind you that wasn't my first time under the threat of a blade?"

Standing in the middle of her chambers, Arthur looked everything but pleased. He approached her slowly, looking over her shoulder towards the plaza.

"Gaius almost burned because of that man. If Gwen hadn't spoken to me, I'm not sure I would've..."

He balked instead of uttering the next words and Morgana lowered her head in shame. Had she truly been so afraid of the Witchfinder that she had lost sight of what was happening? In the back of her mind, she had known that Gaius was in danger, that the old man was probably going to burn, but the young girl who spoke out against injustice seemed to shrink inside her. Why wasn't she the one urging Arthur to do the right thing? Why wasn't she roaring against Uther? What was happening to her?

Her father told her of knights, brave and noble and good. Camelot had knights, subservient, strong and who didn't seem to mind burning an old man. Perhaps the girl she was might have been a lie as well.

Perhaps she was a coward.

Her silence must have been disturbing, because after a long while of just standing there, Arthur finally took his leave, and when he left, a lonely desperate sob escaped her lips, the mourning of losing oneself and everything else.

Gwen would still be there, until she wasn't. She would hold her in the night until she didn't. She was once Gwen's closest companion and before she noticed Arthur had taken her place. Watching it happening felt like a bad joke. The two people who barely knew each other's sight, leaving her for one another, and then, she was gasping, the poison was offered and accepted.

The day was green, and she refused to listen.

"We could speak to Arthur, he surely will know what to do." She walked away from her sister's home, a dark menacing tower that rose over a swamp. A safe place, Morgause promised, but her steps hurried away and the tears were still on the edge of her will.

"Arthur already knows the truth, sister! I showed it to him, his mother's own shade took form to tell her tale and yet Uther is still alive, and yet he remains silent to our people's plight!"

"It can't be true, Arthur wouldn't stand by if..."

"He would! He did!" She fell down, feeling the grass with her hands as Morgause knelt by her side. "Arthur Pendragon is an empty promise, sister."

She cried herself to sleep, and next morning her lessons begun. She learned of the Old Religion, its secrets and its power. She learned to respect it, and to harness it to her will and each day she felt a little stronger, and each night, the sleep came easier.

The day was white, the air cold as it entered her lungs.

Morgause stabbed the knight without a second thought, her magic was fearsome that day, punishing the villagers for their ignorance. Debris flew and people were hurled away, dead or dying it didn't matter. Morgana wanted to stop her, but she was too busy, she cared only for the man she pulled away from the pyre. It was too late of course, his eyes were blind to her presence and her magic was weak, so he died in her arms long before her sister had made the villagers retreat. It was only later, as Morgause healed her hands, that she would remember how half of his body was already burned.

She met stories like that again and again in those months. Tales of horrid detail and heartbreaking similarity, until Morgause came to her with a plan, a plan to bring an end to the suffering and the pain.

_We've known each other a long time, you trust me don't you?_ Gaius said, comforting like family.

_You've been a blessing to me, Morgana. You're the daughter I never had_. Uther said, his gloved hand brushing her cheek.

_You can trust me… You can trust me… You can trust me._

Saying yes never felt so easy.

The day was heavy with distant wishes.

The four traveled together to the Castle of Fyeren. Once more their small band was united in purpose, to rescue Gwen's brother from the clutches of evil man, but the evil man had worked for her and what was once a unity was nothing but a jumble of broken pieces.

The day was hers, and victory as well.

She stood above Uther, rejoicing in the way his face fell, drinking his pain like it was the sweetest wine. There, on her feet was the man responsible for so much pain, there on her feet was evil, truly defeated. Now she only needed to make the people see reason, she needed them to obey, then, everything would be fine.

The day was lost.

She raced into the chambers to cradle her fallen sister, accessing such a power as she had never dared to before. Her rage brought down a part of Camelot that day, and later, her grief would try to end the job.

The day was...

Her sister was gone, another plan had failed and she was the Mad Witch. Scourge of the land, enemy of the kingdom. Memories that were hazy now were so clear, a fog lifted as she felt the empty soul that she had become. She felt Uther's demise, and sought to bury herself further into the small bed. She felt cold, and barely mustered enough will to walk outside and find some kindling. She breathed, in and out, alone.

The day was...

Death seemed sweet, almost serene, peaceful in a way. Clutching her stomach, without her magic, with the woods silent around her, she embraced it. Perhaps in the other world her attempts wouldn't blow in her face like some sort of divine punishment, perhaps she would see her sister again and everything would be all right. Yet a miracle saved her. Aithusa, her love, she breathed her new life, she came to her with the nightmare of the living grave, and she was by her side until Emrys sent her away.

The day...

She was the Mad Witch, enemy of Camelot, the villain of the songs while they were praised and raised above the realm of mortals. King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, with their love so pure and eternal. Merlin, the loyal servant, that was also Emrys the great and powerful and finally, even Mordred stood against her.

"I am not strong enough to defeat you, Morgana, but know this. Such hatred as yours can never triumph. I hope one day you will find the love and compassion which used to fill your heart."

She hesitated, and felt his magic pushing her away, down into the pity of her soul, down into defeat, down into darkness, with the blade of Excalibur burning through her guts.

"You've brought peace at last."

"Morgana?"

Blinking, she felt her vision clearing, the thoughts and memories moving back into the depths of her mind as she looked up to her sister. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."

"I asked you, why a white dragon?" Morgause asked, holding the piece of clothing for inspection.

She had made the surcoat on a whim after watching the few trained warriors outside wearing their colors with pride. The blood guard itself all had their rowan trees displayed and, in her turn, she wanted some of that feeling. With magic, it had been simple to cut the fabric and stitch it together. Camelot's dragon lowered its head as if in submission, but her Aithusa was rising, head high and proud.

"She was my friend, she was with me when no one else was." Morgana explained, running her fingers over the fabric. "I thought it would be appropriate to have her with me now, in a way."

She was glad when her sister didn't press for more information, for at this point she had no idea where Aithusa might be, or how to find her. It was just another loss, a shallow corner that she didn't want to see.

"Yesterday they were all worried that you weren't in the meeting."

"I was walking the camp, raising moral."

"That is good." Morgause bit her lip. "I would ask if you had any predictions about today, but..."

"None at all"

Her sister sighed and their finger intertwined, the hold of their hands a confirmation of a growing bond. "In that case, I'll see you in the battle."

Unable to speak, Morgana nodded, feeling the touch disappearing. Finally she was alone. She got ready by herself, slowly bringing her wild curls into a braid that allowed it to fall along her back. When that was done, she proceed to dress for battle. She drew the padded trousers over her legs, and then a shirt that was then covered by a tunic of boiled leather. Then came the armor properly, a chain mail, made by the finest craftsmen Camelot could pay. It had been made for a birthday of hers, steel meant to indulge and tame not to be used properly.

As the mail fell over her body, she looked over the greatbelt, a huge circle of steel that was meant to encircled her guts, uncomfortable and limiting. Clearly the man who build this had wanted her to seem womanly. Chuckling, she drew a simple leather belt around her waist, it would be enough to keep the mail from moving. Next came the vambrace, the solid steel curling perfectly around her forearm. It was another fine piece, where the steel was thin inside her arm and thicker on the outside so it could take the blow of a sword and even deflect a warhammer. It bared the dragon of Camelot still, but she cared nothing for it.

Boots and greaves followed to protect her legs, and soon she was pulling the surcoat over her head, feeling strong like she hadn't in years.

Outside, her mare was waiting, groomed and saddled by her own hands. The palfrey was not exactly a proper mount for war, but the horse had been with her since Agravaine's state, and she ha grown fond of the animal and its pale coloration.

"Maybe I should name you." She said, but the horse failed to answer.

She rode until she was standing in front of the army, ready to march into the battle of their lives. She stood beside Morgause and Ruadan while the lords of Essetir stood behind her, all dressed in their finest armor and jewels.

"Arthur always had words to inspire his men into battle." She pointed out to Morgause as the winds whispered in he ears, and her sister shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

Smirking, Morgana brought her pale mare atop of a hill, and whispered a spell so she could be heard by everyone in sight.

"Men of Essetir, sorcerers from Albion! You have all come a long way. Some of you came because you're afraid, some came for your own ambitions, what you don't realized now, is that none of that matters when you stand in battle with your siblings at arms." She roared, as loud as she could, her veins pumping with fresh blood and anticipation. "For years these lands, the whole of Albion was haunted by the whims of evil men! Stained by prejudice and the blood of innocents! The death of those who can't pay and those who go hungry! Now, you're here on the edge of change! Lot is coming for us, he is coming to bring terror to the land, but we won't let him! Here we stand! Here, about to enter a battle not only for your future, but the future of all! This is the time when you say, no more! This is your chance!"

She paused, breathing in and out, she wasn't afraid. Sometimes, you have to do what is right.

"I decided I wouldn't be idle before the suffering of others! I stand here! Will you stand with me?"

Behind her, the nobles were suddenly uneasy. Ahead, they answered her, one after the other, until they were, in themselves, a storm.

The day was cold, covered in snow, a fight day.

* * *

##################


	15. THESE SOULS ADRIFT

**THESE SOULS ADRIFT  
**

* * *

Forridel actually felt a small amount of surprise when she noticed that the man running at her was actually, reasonably, handsome. He was obviously tall, bare arms pulsing under the strain of raising his ax, intent on cutting her in half, and although she wasn't above stopping to admire a beautiful person from time to time, it wouldn't stop her from moving. Numbly, she stepped aside, bringing her own sword upwards, slicing through the scarlet crest on his surcoat and his flesh.

She did not wait to see if he was dead. Around her the battle raged with the roars, screams and shouts of magical words, and she had to keep moving in order to survive. Ahead, she saw a sorcerer reaching out, his hand shoving two armored riders off their horses, but he had not seen the warrior sneaking up on him. Running forward, she jumped over a corpse full of bolts, whose blood seeped into the snow, crying out before slamming her shoulder against the warrior. He fell hard on the ground, and Forridel lifted her blade, putting her weight behind the steel to make it pierce through the mail.

On her side, the sorcerer looked on, wide eyed. Riderless horses were running wild around them, and everywhere she looked, Forridel saw the forest peppered with blood and the dead. Lot's men were slowly being cut down by unexpected resistance, dragged from their saddles and killed. The sorcerer she had helped blinked, his mouth opened and, for a moment Forridel expected to hear words of gratitude, but what dropped from his mouth was blood. It took her a moment to notice the arrow head coming out of his chest and then the man was falling, revealing a bowman in her line of vision, hiding behind a tree.

There was no time to think, no time to grieve, no time for anything but to run before he took out more of their fighters. People would die, but not because of her, never again would she be the cause of someone's demise, not like before. As she stepped through the thick woods, around the leafless trees and over crunching snow, Forridel gripped her sword even more tightly, forcing herself through the needles in her throat as winter breathed down her lungs.

Camelot was so far behind her now, but still she would feel its presence at her back, like a stalker following her steps as a memory and warning. Growing up, she had been just like every other child, entertained by tales of monsters who violated the will of god and nature with their sorcery, tales that made her first impression of a sorcerer very underwhelming. Still, it was surprising how easy it was to love one. Eventually, she met home, and the druids, so many, and they always needed help. She offered it, freely and from the heart, discreetly building a life in Camelot itself, and secretly smuggling supplies, information and other small things that the woods failed to provide. It was a good life, a simple life and occasionally her love would come by, or they would met in secret under the shadows of the Darkling Woods. Like all things though, that couldn't last forever. Everything changed when the king's ward was attacked, the same ward that now led this makeshift army. From day to night, people had been rounded up by the red cloaks. Whether they had only whispered the word magic didn't matter, they were thrown into the dungeons and later executed and she probably would've been one of them if it wasn't for the boy.

He had invaded her home, all hurry and desperation, pleading for her to go. He had saved her life and asked only one thing in return. To this day, Forridel had no idea what had compelled her to reveal the location of the druids. At the time the price seemed so small, her life for a secret, but now there wasn't a day where she didn't regret her actions.

When she doubled back from her escape and came upon the camp, it was only find ragged survivors, widows and orphans collecting their dead from the passage of Camelot's forces. When she came upon her friends, she did so with the striking horror that the only explanation was her fault. How else could Camelot have found the secret hiding if not thanks to the boy?

And here she was now, battling, and every time she killed in battle, she imagined it was a red cloak falling at her feet, and as she run towards the bowman, it was unending fury that moved her legs, because each time one of her own remained standing if felt redeeming.

She was getting closer now, and the man had not seen her, he was pulling his arrow at a target to her left, and she leaned forward, ready to throw her shoulders behind and slice him down.

Then pain flared up, filling her vision with stars.

The cold ground met her back, hard, and bleary eyed, she could see a shape standing over her, putting his shield aside. His sword was raised over his feathered helmet, each feather so colorful they blurred together like a rainbow. On the ground, she could still hear the noise, feel a thunderous cavalry charge that would probably end these men shortly, but probably not soon enough to save her. Tasting the blood in her mouth, she grunted, her body seeming like a disobedient child, refusing to move. _Fuck..._ she cursed, wondering if she should apologize. _Fuck..._

The sword came down, and in a whisper, it disappeared behind a scarlet blur. The miracle took sometime to become clear, and then the soldier's scream pierced her confusion, making her cringe, until a dagger cut through his throat. When he tumbled aside, there was a brown skinned hand reaching for her, and Forridel could only blink dumbly at the druid mark that covered her right eye and half of her face.

"I thought you said you would be the one taking care of me."

"Pylah" She mumbled, reaching out to those chestnut eyes.

"That is my name all right" her love smiled, pulling her to her feet. Over her shoulder, the bowman was already dead, beheaded by a blond woman with hair like a bird's nest. "You should be more careful in the future, unless you don't mind me saving your butt."

Forridel smiled. "Is not like you don't enjoy it."

"Oh Goddess" Pylah said. "I think you lost a tooth there."

A tooth, it was far less that she had made the druids lose that day, that she made Pylah lose that day. As the battle around them ended and the last of Lot's men were sent to the other world, Forridel considered that a tooth was nothing.

Looking down, Pylah picked something from the corpse, a silver chain that usually indicated a high position in a chain of command, Alvarr had warned them to look for it. "Think his head will do?"

Forridel shrugged, catching a glimpse of their leader riding through the forest, his sword bloodied as he asked for volunteers. "You should ask him right now."

* * *

Lot, or King Lot as his servant announced, wasn't quite what Ruadan expected. Under the fame of a brutal, fearsome warrior was a man, thin and tanned, seeming small under a heavy bearskin cloak that hid the bloody crown he had chosen to be his sigil. Facing him, Morgana Pendragon looked much more regal, poised atop of her mare in shining coat of mail, her white dragon making the snow flakes disappear in its lack of color.

"You're a very bold whore, to stand and face me, for that you have my respect." Lot said, snickers following his words all around his lords and commanders. Morgana remained still, stretching the silence around them like a blanket of winter's sun. Under him, Ruadan felt his horse fidgeting and slowly reached out, his touch calming the old gray palfrey as much as it reassured himself.

"You have a funny way of showing respect." The High Priestess, Morgause, called out, and now the man's face held a grin that never reached his eyes.

"Isn't the truth a form of respect?" The man questioned, and then, suddenly, his grin vanished. One of his men, a tall figure wearing feathers on his helmet, handed him a bag, and he threw the contents at their feet. The woman had been young, her chestnut eyes were wide open and her whole face seemed carved in shock as if she was surprised to have her head cut off. It was however the druid mark that covered half of her face that spoke loudest to the those watching. "Your forces in the forest are gone, all dead. I'm however prone to mercy on this day, so you may lay down your weapons and surrender your army to me, and I promise you shall all have a quick death."

From where he was standing, Ruadan couldn't help but wonder if he should say something, if he had an actual role in this whole situation. Disturbed by the sight of the head, he let his eyes roam over the land, to where Lot's army was. His men had taken formation across the road, where the land dipped slightly until it became flat. To the south, away from the horses, the forest of Essetir stood mighty and dark, with bare bark and leafless branches drowned in their own bleakness, a proper place for an ambush, even obvious, and he wondered how many of their people were now dead in those woods. He wondered what he might do if that was Sefa's head on the ground, and it made it easier to let that feeling show.

He had been in his prime when the waves of the purge first crashed onto his life, a druid that loved his people's ways. Back then he offered mercy as easily as he drew breath, until Sefa came along, and caring for her finally demanded of him to raise his blade, to, for the first time, consider using his magic to do harm. It was that or seeing her thrown into a well, still a baby, to drown and perish with the magic in her blood. Of course, later, Sefa never showed signs of the gift, and in days when he visited her in villages where people were common, and whose bigger problem was the gossip of their neighbors, where she could have her own life in secret, he was actually relieved that the Goddess had denied her such powers.

Now, as Morgana, a Pendragon of all people, spat in Lot's direction, those feelings of relief brought him nothing but shame, and a small bit of hope that even if this small chance, this battle, found him dead and Morgana's promises ashes in the wind, at least Sefa would be safe and alive. This, after all, was his gamble to make, no matter how much she had had to bear by herself.

As Ruadan pulled his horse back, he fell in line with Morgana, the young woman seeming calm in a way that disturbed him at times. Either she was made of ice or her life had taught her to hide her feelings well, which, imagining her childhood, a sorceress that was ward to Uther Pendragon, was very likely.

"He just told us he destroyed our men in the woods" Lord Trito pointed out nervously. "All our horses, isn't that bad?"

Morgana hummed, before looking at him. "What do you think, Ruadan?"

Her question was simple, and he felt the eyes of the nobles of Essetir and the High Priestess turning on him in almost comedic sync. Thinking quietly, he let his mind draw the battle lines, the numbers and the plan that he was presented with. He didn't know why he deserved so much confidence in commanding the battle. He had disagreed with her from the beginning, trying to argue the merits of fighting Uther instead of some rabid dog warlord, but if fate, if his Goddess, had brought him here, he would see it through.

"He is overconfident, that is for sure." Ruadan pointed out. "He will bring the cavalry first, to try and break us into a panic. When that doesn't work the rest of them will come, I judge he is clever enough to leave a reserve behind though. Everything will depend on timing our actions well, to break them once, for good and make them run."

"And can we? Break them?" The redhaired lady asked.

He looked down the road, to the small hill where their army was positioned, all but waiting for the slaughter. They were three small blocks. The vanguard, on the left, was where their best fighters were. The center was nothing but a big mass of farmers and peasants, badly equipped, barely trained. The sorcerers, most of them, formed the smallest of the formations, on the right wing, holding banners with runes and sigils of the Old Religion. They looked small, but the power they could all summon together, that was something else.

"Yes, my lady, I believe we can break them."

* * *

Standing three lines deep in the formation, Gilli could only gulp as he watched the massive body of men that was slowly marching down to meet him and the people around him, with the horses slowly gathering ahead of the enemy army. Under his boots, he could almost feel the ground shaking or maybe it was just his imagination. He hoped for the later.

Around him, the fear was palatable all over. He could smell it in the liquid guts of fighters who run away and lowered their pants, and the sweat that poured from many a forehead, despite the freezing cold of the day. His own belly had rumbled nervously all morning, ten times worst than it ever did when he fought one on one in a tournament. The Decennial Tournament of Camelot had no rules, and yet, back then, magic had been his shield, his blanket that hid his frail body from the monsters at night. Now, it slowly dawned on him that he was in a war, that magic might not assure his survival and that, a decision made on the road might have been a little rushed on his part.

Closing his eyes, he suddenly, very keenly, wished he had gone back home like he intended, to his mother's arms and the safety of a small lakeside village that no one cared about. The thought that he might never see her again suddenly made him want to cry, the pressure growing behind his eyes until a new voice broke his chain of thoughts.

"First fight, lad?"

Gilli blinked, unsure if the question was for him, but when he turned to the side, he met a bearded old man, using a battered leather armor and a rusty sword. The grin of only three teeth was indeed meant for him. "E-excuse me?"

"This your first fight?"

"Yes"

"I could tell, shaking like a maiden, green as grass, you look like a proper wee loon." The man chuckled, and Gilli blinked at the thick accent. "I can still remember my first fight, some dobber somewhere wanted m'lord's bridge, old Lord Belmont not the sleekit one from now, anyway we had to go and defend the darn bridge. Sorry excuse I was, ended up whiteying in the middle of the fight."

"I-I'm sorry..."

"What for, did you make me do it? They said a drink gives you courage, and I bought it, hook and line." The grin was back again, and on the field, Gilli could now see the horses breathes as smoke. "You're a magic one, aren't you? They put some of you around here to protect us, right? I know, I saw some of you around already, seems damn useful all right"

Gilli wanted to say yes, but that he didn't really know that many spells, he just prayed his father's ring would give him enough strength to protect the lines in front of him. When a horn suddenly sung all over the field, enticing the cavalry to a full charge, Gilly couldn't look at the man anymore. Suddenly he had eyes only for the hammer of steel that was descending upon them, really, the horses alone seemed like they could kill everyone.

"So, I hear you guys actually heard a voice talking in your head, how is that?"

"It was a call." Gilli mumbled, an image of Merlin flashing in his mind, making him feel ashamed for trying to kill Uther. He was vain, Merlin said, but Gilli didn't want to be vain, he only wanted for no one to die like his father, cowering on the floor and denying himself salvation. "It was a call for us to fight for our freedom."

"Aye, heard a lot of calls like that in my life, not many worked out, not many are truth." He winked at Gilli, as if making a private joke. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm here just for the pillaging."

"W-what?" Gilli didn't understand. "Why aren't you with Lot, then?"

The man seemed to think about it for a while and Gilli wondered if he would even get an answer before they were both trampled by the cavalry.

"There used to be a witch in my village, long ago, an old crone. She had this cat, you see, mean furball that he was, always scratching me, always coming after my own kitty, a sleekit beast he was. So one day, I caught the little bastard, tied a torch to his tail, funny as hell." The man frowned. "Of course, the woman didn't like that, she used her magic yes? Put a curse on me, for a week, I couldn't stop vomiting frogs. She said she stopped it after that week, but I swear I spit tadpoles sometimes."

He huffed, spat on the ground, and shouldered his sword and shield. "My point is, I'm old, don't care for much and those horses are probably gonna kill us, but since I saw magic before, I know there is a chance they won't."

As if on a cue Gilli felt a spark in the air, power, resonating and increasing with an ominous chant coming from the right. Voices of sorcerers were joining together, saying words that were new to him and whose meaning he understood instinctively. It stole his breath, to feel it, so much magic, an ocean that he had only ever touched the surface of. Around his finger, the ring pulsed as if eager to join the fray, but Gilli couldn't, not yet. Ahead of their formation, at first the air seemed to tremble, and then, it happened. The snow that covered the field in front of them melted, disappearing before their eyes and infiltrating the soil until it was nothing but a dark, unstable dough. By the time the cavalry reach it, the horses' hooves sunk through the dead grass, deep in the mud, and tripped.

Suddenly, the power that had come to crush them, crushed itself. He saw a man being flung from his horse when his mount got stuck, falling with a splash and not getting up. All over the enemy line, the same story happened, the mounts either were swallowed by the magic-made mud pool, broke their legs or were run over by those coming from behind. Screams spread all over the field in a cacophony of pain from men and animal alike, and Gilli couldn't help but remember his own brush with death, when he had first killed a man in combat, not because he wanted, but because he was scared and angry. That first time had plagued him with nightmares for days, and now the sight before him, somehow promised him even worst.

"Huh! There you go! Take that you bastards!" A man was suddenly screaming in the head of their formation, Gilli couldn't hear it, but they were moving and so he moved along, with the man by his side seeming uncomfortably happy with the whole ordeal. "You seen a little green there lad, don't worry, I'll keep you safe. Always like you, magical folk."

* * *

_"You go, and please, report to me what you see."_

Her master had asked her, because, although he had long sought distance from the world, Alator was still a curious man. For Finna, it wasn't anything beyond her abilities, it was a simple task of observation, a study of the ripples of the world, until the day came when her fate would finally put her in a place to serve Emrys.

It was her fate after all, prophesied, and she was proud of it, because what greater purpose could there be than to assist the one who would bring about the New World? A time where the old and new were joined, and magic would roam free once more. That was her dream, to see to it that her purpose remained alive, so it was fare to say that she looked upon the battle before her with suspicion.

Looking down, the brendui concentrated, enchanting the poultice and passing it over to the young man at her side. He was but a lad, probably taken away from his village with all other fighting men, but he was steady as he gripped the poultice and threw it over the crashing lines. It exploded amidst the enemy in a cloud of pale mist, in which she could see the shadows falling down as they breathed it in. Around her, her sisters did the same, women she had never met, or faces that had long been forgotten in the fog of memory and persecution, and soon the enemy lines were all falling, the knock out mix enhanced by their powers, turning a fearsome warrior into a sleeping puppy.

Alator asked her to watch, and so she did. She took notice of sorcerers spilling words to protect warriors, warriors fighting to keep the sorcerers safe, as the battle became a mess of muddy grounds and blurred lines. She watched the High Priestess joining the fray shortly, her blade carving through whole lines of men, her magic as sharp as her steel. Then followed her sister, the Lady Morgana, dropping the reins of her mount to bring about a storm of wind and ice, the arrival of her power turning the tide on a section where the enemy was threatening to win. Soon, the spell changed, and storm clouds gathered above them, so quick they might as well have appeared from nowhere. Finna knew, deep down, that this whole battle wouldn't bare fruits, for destiny was written already, and without Emrys, what hope could this crusade really have? She would watch, she would wait, and in time she would hide again, waiting for her day to come to meet the savior, and yet, when Finna looked behind her, to where her sisters had build and raised a flag, baring the same sigil they all shared, of nine squares linked together in harmony, she couldn't help but wish that fate, for once, was just a little bit wrong.

"Crossbows!" At the shout, she turned her eyes upwards, where hundreds of black streaks were cruising under the dark clouds. "Get ready! Everyone get ready!"

The man rode his horse, gray haired, he roared with a voice like thunder, stretching his hand to the skies. Around Finna, other men and women followed suit with the echo of one word single word spoken in dozens of voices.

**"Scildan!"**

* * *

Enmyria stretched her back and fingers, yawning under the gray clouds that now covered the skies. The battle had raged for almost a full day, and it seemed that the little girl's army was still holding strong. Who would've thought?

"It's quite impressive, don't you think?" By her side, Alvarr was also watching, leaning over a dark courier whose rider was now dead on the snows, him and scores of Lot's men that had been sent to take the woods. They failed miserably of course, and now, they were only waiting for their cue.

Yes, it was impressive watching some four thousand men holding about four times their number in flat ground, all because of magic and some mud. "Not really."

"I think it is. Who would've thought that innocent frightened girl could bring about something like this?" Just as he said that, bolts of lightening exploded all over the right wing of Lot's army, sending his men scurrying away, destroying the counter attack of his cavalry before it could begin. Crossbows were fired, and he watched them stopping in midair, bouncing off an invisible barrier, although some bolts fell anyway, striking at Morgana's army. "She took a fallen kingdom, brought together a few lost souls, and now she is resisting one of the most frightening warriors Albion has ever seen."

It was with annoyance that she realized he wasn't talking about the battle. "You wanna marry the girl now?"

"Are you jealous, my love?"

"Of you? Not at all, it's just sad to see you so envious." That took the smirk out of his face. Good. "Oh, don't kid yourself, this is all you ever wanted, right, my dear? Except, if it was on you, those soldiers would all be wearing red cloaks and golden dragons."

Alvarr grumbled something under his breath, and Enmyria chuckled to herself. She was well aware that Alvarr's little game of seduction had somewhat failed. Morgana had been a simple means to and end back then, and yet now, Alvarr was the one in debt. How ironic. From the hill where Lot was watching the battle, she saw two riders pulling away, and getting bigger as they raced to meet them. "That looks like our cue."

"Patience."

The riders slowly became men, and the men pulled up in front of them. As soon as they did, the feathered helmet disappeared together with the features to reveal the dark haired woman under the glamour. The other rider did the same, revealing curly hair and a druid mark over her right eye. "The arsehole wants his men to double back from the forest and attack the sorcerer's on Morgana's right."

"A wise strategy." Alvarr claimed to which the woman rolled her eyes. Her name was Mauren, Enmyaria remembered, leader of the remains of Tauren's band, and his sister. A small legend on her own right.

"Did the head fool him?"

"It fooled him well enough, Pylah's spell was masterful." Mauren motioned to her companion who was already moving to stand beside another woman, their whispers impossible to hear. "So, lets get this over with?"

Alvarr looked at her over his shoulder. Lot's reserves were closing in on the fight now, they had their shields up, spears locked and they were ready for the mud, perhaps even for the magic. The sorcerers, however, were too busy keeping the fight in their favor, so now, it was up to them to strike the final blow. Eager, Enmyria drew her blade, Mauren shouldered a spear and Alvarr looked at his own sword.

"**Bregdan anweald gafeluc" **The renegade said, enchanting the weapon into a eerie blue glow.

Behind her, in the shadows of the Forest of Essetir, that Pylah woman turned her blond companion's blade orange, while other sorcerers did their own enchantments, but Enmyria had no wish to waste her magic with that.

"Forward!" Mauren cried out, and like one, their small force broke out of the tree line, aiming at the flank of an unsuspecting enemy.

* * *

She bit down on her lower lip, her fingers working with the ease and experience of a lifetime, while she drowned out the screams and the whimpers of pain around her. They weren't from her patient though, he was passed out when he was brought in. It was better that way. Brushing the sweat away from her face, she mumbled the spell, watching as the flesh of his guts slowly repaired itself. A second spell removed the filthy from inside his body, and finally, she moved to complete the task, dousing a needle in boiling wine and starting to close the wound, only starting.

"Come here" She spoke. The young druid knew very basic things about healing, but he was a fast leaner, she found. His name was Oldric, sweet of nature and steady of hand. "Sew him up, very tight, then use this green paste over here, to prevent infection, he will be good as new."

"Yes."

Patting the lad's shoulder, Alice moved further into the line of wounded. The battle had ended a while ago, with screams of victory and mad joy, but, slowly, the consequences needed to be dealt with as well, and those who got hurt were of the most importance. She moved slowly, past young healers who could deal with bolts and arrows, towards the most serious cases, finding a druid woman whose leg was split in two, the bone protruding out of the wound. The poor lass that was with her was mumbling spells nonstop, while another healer ranted about amputation. Both were clearly desperate and it didn't help that the woman was crying, screaming in pain until she was hoarse.

In seconds, Alice was there, brushing both away. "No need for any of that, now pay attention, because I won't have time to properly teach any of this." With cold experience, she quickly understood the situation and begun her work. The first spell was a whisper, making the woman drop like a string-less puppet on the table. The second was the worse, it left her lightheaded, because it forcefully poured her magic into the bone, forcing it back in place. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Alice touched the leg, understanding the torn muscles and damaged veins. It was a wonder the woman hadn't bled to death yet, but she would very soon. There was no time to properly identify the damaged veins, so this needed an more encompassing work. The next spell took care of that, it made the blood thick and allowed it to coagulate.

"She will be fine, but someone needs to keep an eye on her. Close the wound, full poultice, and give her plenty of food." She instructed the two, and looked straight at the druid lass. "You understood the spells?"

"Yes."

"Repeat it for." She did so, without magic, and once Alice was sure those were the right words, she nodded.

"Good, they are only for emergencies, the first one alone might drain you, so be sure to have someone with you."

The girl nodded, and Alice moved along. She lost count of how many she saved in her passage, how many orders she barked with her old lungs until her throat itself was hurting and she became the unnamed leader of the healer ward. A ward that was only a large tent with sheets and furs making for improvised beds. It was dire, it was difficult, and it brought fourth things she thought she had forgotten, knowledge that had no place in this world, that was a relic, just like she feared herself to be. The old healer had, after all, been about to enter a boat, ready to leave Albion behind altogether, turning Gaius into just another memory.

She still wasn't sure what made her come here. Alice had never liked High Priestesses, preaching their views of life like tired old flutes, neither was she a great friend of druids, whose minds were as closed as a treasure chest. Her life had always been one of exploration, of diving into the mysteries of dark magic and the unknown. She didn't want to use the same old healing poultice as everyone, she wanted to try and make it better, until it was closing cuts twice as fast. She didn't want the same peaceful healing that had no awareness of the nervous system and muscle tissue, she wanted to discover how her magic could keep limb, its movements and functions even if she had to dug corpses out of the graveyard. As she came upon a man whose arm got mangled by a falling horse, Alice couldn't find in herself a selfish answer to attending the call, but she didn't regret it. Maybe, saying her next words, were reason enough.

"Calm down now, son, everything will be all right."

In the back of her mind, she heard a sudden commotion from the rest of the camp. Shouts of 'Victory!' and 'for Essetir' 'for the Goddess' reached her with force, and then, her name, like a prayer, repeated over the others: 'Morgana! Morgana! Morgana!'

"She was so powerful." Spoke the man under her care as Alice gently whispered the words to separate his hand from the elbow. The damage was too great to be fixed, magic or not, and if she even attempted to do it, Alice feared she might lose others as a result, her own powers were almost on the brink. "S-she brought lightning from the sky, w-when they tried t-to strike back. She used lightning. I-it was..."

"Don't talk" Alice spoke, uttering one last spell that made his eyes close in deep slumber. Sighing, she looked down at her bloodied hands, told again for the healer to finish sewing and dressing and moved on, barely taken a step when her companions gasped in surprise.

"I was told there were people in need here." Alice blinked, startled to find the same Morgana from the ovation standing behind her.

For a moment she was beyond words as she took in the sight of the young woman. She was cackled in blood and filthy, from head to toe, the white dragon on her chest completely disappearing under the mud, making her image a far cry from her glorious appearance to speak before the battle. Back then she was a legend in the flesh, now she looked like an exhausted girl. As that downed on Alice and the woman's words, she quietly looked around her.

"Everyone needs help and our healers are almost drained of power, bandages are gone as well."

"Show me those who are worst."

Frowning, Alice turned around doing as she was told. Slowly, she brought Morgana to the worst cases, to those who would inevitably lose legs or arms, those with infections already taking place and those whose loss of blood would make getting through the night a fight on its own. She thought she would need to give some advice, but other than asking for a spell to purge gangrene ( the magic demanded such power that even Alice refrained from using) Morgana simply worked. She moved from one to the other, her bracelet vibrating with magic whenever she mumbled an enchantment. Sometimes, they would cry, grasp at her hands and thank her nonstop, other times Morgana would be the one offering assurance.

By the time they were done, Alice took the woman by the hands, guiding her to a table with dark bread and tea. Her own hands shaking, Alice quietly served the exhausted priestess, before taking a small bite of food. Her stomach demanding more almost right away.

"You probably saved many of them." She pointed out. "Soon enough, there would be healers passing out from the strain."

"I understand how healing spells can be taxing."

"Summoning lightning can be taxing as well." Morgana's answer was a weary smile, taking a small bite from the dark dough. "I assume it was victory then."

"Lot escaped." Was all that she said, but Alice didn't prod.

Both woman sipped quietly from the tea in a strange companionship, while Alice studied her companion. She was indeed young, and although the call hadn't come from her, she was, in fact, the commanding force of this whole situation. Uncertainty suddenly tangled her thoughts as the old healer remembered the rumors about Camelot, of treason and war, and how they contrasted with the healer she had witnessed just now. She wondered about motives and decided on her next words.

"Just like someone to blame for their troubles, many also need someone to lean on, to place upon their hopes and dreams and from whom to take promises and assurances. Few could really take both cases upon themselves, when those situations arrive." Alice bit at her bread, chewing thoughtfully. "That is how you know a real leader from a fake one."

In front of her, Morgana frowned, lowering the food down, not really looking at her. "You know Gaius, don't you?"

"I knew him from childhood, we used to study magic together, specially the arts of healing." Alice sought something from those green glassy eyes but all the woman did was eat another bite. "Do you know him?"

"I hate him."

Alice shivered at how flat those words sounded, an affirmation of the same nature of pointing out the coming rain. Such a contradiction this woman was, passionate in her kindness but numb to her own hatred, or perhaps, tired of it. While Alice was thinking on that, Morgana rose to her feet, blinking away towards the exit. Outside, snow begun to fall, but it didn't look like a storm.

"Thank you."

Alice blinked. "For what?"

"For coming here, and for doing this, thank you." Alice couldn't think of anything to say in response, so she didn't. "Could you organize the wounded for travel? My sister is pursuing the remains of Lot's army. As soon as she returns we'll be moving to Cenred's castle. I believe everyone will be safer there."

Alice considered the request, hearing the echoes of this woman's name and the wonder in those who spoke of her power. The care in which her healing spells spread over her patients and her words for the man Alice loved. All her life, Alice had sought to understand the world, to break through ignorance and use the full potential of her gifts, because she believed that behind every wall there was something to be discovered. She would never have thought she would see sorcerers working openly again, it didn't matter that it was for war and although she wasn't selfish with her work Alice suddenly saw a selfish reason to be here. Her answer seemed almost easy when she offered. "Of course, my lady."

Morgana Pendragon stopped short, an mutual understanding passing through the two of them before she finally moved away. Whenever she passed, heads were lowered in respect, compliments were paid, even by those men who belonged to other nobles.

Something interesting was happening in Essetir, and, like a young teenager reading of the mysteries of dark magic, manticore's poison and the cunning minds of dragons, Alice couldn't help but want to see it through.

* * *

##################


	16. TRIUMPH?

**TRIUMPH?  
**

* * *

Below her, the castle was brimming with the light of torches and the singing, the voices of victorious men and women joined together in a night of drunk celebration, with food and wine taken from Cenred's storages to cheer her weary army.

Brushing some snow away from the windowsill, Morgana leaned forward, listening to the rhythm and the faint words impossible to hear, but she could recognize druid chants and popular raunchy ballads like_ The Knight and the Troll, Handsome and Nude _ and _Busty Women Jumping on the Field_. The music she heard right then was one where the verses were long and stretched out, the melody abandoned to the joining of voices, to whispers about a toothless dragon and its drunk one legged friend.

"Priestess of the old religion and drunken soldiers singing tavern songs together, now that is impressive."

Huffing, Morgana looked over her shoulder to offer her sister a smug smile. "There are very few things that a shared drink can't mend."

"How long until they start fighting though?"

"I told Accolon and the Blood Guard to gather some fighters and keep them sober, just in case, but I'm sure it won't come to that." Many schools of magic were disciplined enough to keep the peace, so Morgana wasn't really all that worried. "I have to say though, I didn't remember this place being so big."

"It was always meant to be a military stronghold." Morgause was also gazing down at the festive people, her arms bare despite the cold. "In the old days, the Fisher King had a court in this exact same place, but when his reign dwindled, the castle was forgotten. Later, this fortress was build and named for the ruins, Corbenic. The old kings hoped it would protect them from the old empire."

"It didn't work, did it?"

"It did for a while, until it was surrounded and starved. It turns out having a massive host within your walls burns through your food faster than fire."

"I saw some space that could be cleaned up for small harvests" Morgana pointed out, thinking of the deserted courtyards on the south part of the walls.

"It's a plan." Morgause commented, clearing her throat. "I came to tell you that our guests are waiting in the throne room."

Of course. Lady Cerys and Lord Belmont had arrived just that morning at the head of a whole group of small lords and landowners, in a clear show of strength.

Nodding to her sister, she let her escort them through the maze that was Cenred's Castle, in which every wall and alcove was covered by some intricate tapestry, almost vanishing against the dark stone used to build the walls. The images displayed showed many things, battles, feasts, and even a lonely rider atop of a hill, with some familiar features at that. "If its name used to be Corbenic, why was it changed to Cenred's Castle?"

"It was a family tradition." Morgause explained. "Every firstborn in his family inherits the name Cenred, and so, naming the fortress after him was a sure way to ascertain their power."

"Maybe we should change it as well, call it Morgana's or something."

"Morgause's little sister's hovel"

Morgana laughed, brushing her fingers over some of the fabric, and smiling wearily at the self portrait. "I thought his ego was only his own, but it seems to run in the family."

"To be honest, it was one of his best qualities out of the bed."

"Really now? I did always wonder if I should question your taste in men."

"I do prefer women most of the time." Morgause narrowed her eyes in careful consideration. "If we're at this point, should I be asking about your own history of lovers?"

"Not a chance." She would rather keep her secrets. For all the time she spent with Morgause in her other life, she had never, even then, mentioned those secret nights. She wondered how different things might have been otherwise, or perhaps her need to erase a sin from her conscience had only added to her hatred. "We should go before we're late."

The two made their path down the tower, with Morgana doing her best to ignore the crippling exhaustion that called her to bed.

Cenred's old stewards had the castle manned and locked when they arrived, but surrendered it easily after only a few moments. From that point on her days had been a blur of checking supplies, the vault, getting acquainted with the castle properly and meeting the staff. The feast outside was only the least of her worries, less so than getting rid of old loyalties and harvesting new ones.

When they finally stood before the doors, she checked herself out, adjusting the old velvet dress and the fur cloak around her body, making sure the golden thread was visible running over the hems.

The throne room of the castle was a wide ample space in which a solitary chair made sure that the ruling monarch was the only one sitting. Braziers and torches burned all over the chamber, filling it with a warm eerie light, while a table by the side carried food and drink to those who wished. Waiting for them was everyone to whom the coming decisions would matter the most, and they were clearly eager to show their power.

Lady Elaine had chosen her best clothes that afternoon. She wore a fanciful wool dress of rich red colors, draped under a heavy fur cloak that made her seem taller, while the blue ox of her noble house was displayed in the sapphire around her neck. It was beautiful, one that could've only been made by magic or a very talented craftsman. Standing to her side, Lord Trito was also well dressed, wearing pants and doublet of black and silver thread, with dogs running up and down his sleeves, while his belt shimmered with gold and silver. Equally united, Lady Cerys and Lord Belmont stood on their own small group of lords, purple wolves beside a lonely hill crowned by a tower. The only one who seemed more curious than worried was Lord Madoc, standing aside from everyone and savoring a chicken leg, drops of sauce and fat already soiling the yellow snakes on his chest.

In comparison, her people were shabby to say the least. Alvarr was dressed in simple trousers and shirt, while Ruadan still bore his crude leather doublet over chain mail. Morgana had asked for a representative from the Brendui, and they chose a old woman, with dark skin covered in white tattoos, named Niely. There was no one to represent the druids as an united people, but Morgana judged they wouldn't be needed for this.

"I would like to thank you all for your presence here." Morgana said, striding into the room. "I'm sure you're all aware of the matters that must be discussed."

"Indeed we do." Lord Belmont said, squaring his shoulders. "Our victory against Lot will surely have consequences."

"Our victory?" Alvarr questioned, snorting. "I don't remember seeing you in the fight, or your sigil."

The words had the expected effect, Lord Belmont narrowed his eyes towards the renegade, the rings around his fingers glimmering as they closed into fists, but before anything could come of it, Morgause was already moving on.

"That is irrelevant at this point, right now there are other matters that concern this country." Morgause reached the center of the room, making sure the attention was all on her as she circled a brazier. "Essetir's enemies are not done. Lot's family in Anglia will surely seek retribution, and every other kingdom in Albion will surely be shaken by the news of an army with sorcerers in its ranks."

"If we had Lot with us, we might have negotiated peace." Lady Cerys lamented and Morgana needed some effort to not roll her eyes at the woman.

"He escaped, something that only adds to his skills. He will either die in the snows or find shelter, be that as it may, it hardly brings relevance to this speculation." Morgause walked towards the high seat, which no one had taken, resting her hands over the old wood. "What is relevant at the moment, is the choice of a leader to guide this country through dark times."

"Lot was the heir to that throne." Lord Belmont pointed out.

"Lot is gone, his tail tucked between his legs."

"He is gone." Lady Cerys acknowledge. "We worked towards that goal, now we must see to our interests. If his family finds insult in his defeat, we might negotiate with them. Offer the crown in exchange for a peaceful ruler. I seem to remember his little brother as a kind lad."

"And yet, Anglia is one of the Five Kingdoms in alliance with Camelot, in their lands magic is punishable with death." Nyely explained.

"Arrangements can certainly be made on that regard."

"We won" Ruadan spoke, shaking his head. "We've earned the right to be here, nothing less will be accepted."

Lord Belmont pursed his lips. "The law..."

"The law never mattered much in regards to rulers." Morgana finally accepted her cue, tilting her chin upwards in a small show of defiance. "Cenred's family didn't receive this castle, they took it. Uther himself is only the first king of his line to hold Camelot. North and South, bloodlines had fallen to the right of conquest. Aren't we all conquerors at this point?"

A heavy, ethereal silence overlapped the chambers, and Morgana let fate suck its breath, her eyes darting to the window where the gray skies were becoming darker. Somewhere out there she could see the tale of what happened in Essetir spreading like weed all over the land, but how many ripples would it cause? What would Arthur do when he heard? Wings flapped in her vision, and suddenly there was a crow perched on the windowsill, all black eyes and black feathers. Had it fed on the dead bodies she left behind?

"Essetir should be ruled by one of our own." It was Lord Belmont who risked the suggestion. "It should be someone strong, with influence upon this land. Someone powerful."

"Are you offering yourself, Lord Belmont?" Lady Elaine questioned.

"I would humbly accept the compliment, my lady." He said, puffing his chest. "Lady Morgana claims the law of inheritance doesn't matter, but I say it should. It brings legitimacy and stability. And with that in mind, I should inform you all that my family shares blood with Cenred's, from a wedding two generations ago."

"No" Ruadan might as well have screamed, given the shock that flashed in Belmont's face. "Lady Morgana is right, we beated Lot, what we do now is up to us. Among the druids, a leader is chosen by the most wise among them, all with equal voice. Although I have no right to a place among them, I think their methods should apply now. We must have a voice in the choosing."

"And I believe Lord Madoc's support would be essential, neighbors and allies matter of course." Morgause added.

By the food table, Madoc threw a chicken bone on the floor, brushing the grease from his beard before smirking towards the room around him. He had gathered his spears and marched for war, and now, he was clearly enjoying himself. "I negotiated with the Lady Morgana, can't remember anyone else promising what I wanted."

His lecherous gaze was unwelcome, but it served her well enough. The mention of her name was all that she needed. Among Lady Cery's group she could see the trepidation in their eyes, as they became aware of their position. They were not part of the battlefield, and certainly by now, they must have heard from their spies about the cries of her name, and the deeds of her magic. Whatever they might have said, they took too long, because Ruadan was already grasping at the suggestion.

"I would follow the Lady Morgana."

"So would I." Alvarr followed suit, winking her way.

The brendui took her time, closing her eyes and running her hands through graying curls of hair, before finally nodding. "The brendui had always done the will of the Goddess, we've fought now for it too, something I never thought possible, something accomplished by these two woman in front of me. I've heard many things, but what I've seen speaks louder, I say. She has shown wisdom and cleverness, fierceness and compassion. Aye, my sisters and I support the Lady Morgana."

"That sounds good for me." Lady Elaine suddenly addressed her peers, her hands joined in front of her. "As Lady of Astolat, I give the lady Morgana my support for the crown."

"I would follow the lady Morgana. I-I think she would be better than Cenred was..." Lord Trito added after a gentle poke from Lady Elaine.

Now, other small lords were nodding along, as the power shifted around the room. _Had it ever been anywhere else?_ Morgana wondered, as, finally, Lady Cerys sighed.

"It seems the only choice, apparently."

"It won't be a decision you will regret, Lady Cerys" Morgana spoke.

"Oh, my dear, regret is a powerful thing, but since you came all this way, it would be a shame to stand in your way." _As if you could_, Morgana thought. "Very well, Morgana Pendragon, it seems you're to be my queen."

Belmont remained silent, his agreement implied if nothing else, while Lord Madoc, well, King Madoc, laughed out loud, boasting about seeing to a proper trade deal between their neighboring kingdoms soon. One by one, vows were made under the dim fire of the chambers, promises under the Goddess and the New God of bread and wine.

And that was how Morgana became Queen.

Not by slaughtering her enemies, or scheming someone's death. Not under pompous rites and fancy protocols, where gold would shimmer above her dark curls and crowds would clap, but by manipulating people and arguing them against the wall. She became a queen, sitting on a cold chair while Morgause fed the fires, with none of the elation she expected to feel. She remembered the wounded men of women she healed and those that couldn't be so, that were now burned or buried somewhere, and she remembered her white dragon surcoat covered by mud and blood when she finally took it off. A sudden understanding hit Morgana that the triumph from taking Camelot all those times would never repeat itself, that she was suddenly very aware of what would come next, and what fate would bring her if she made mistakes.

"I must say, this was easier than I thought."

"They had no choice really." Morgana answered, eager for a distraction, the crow was still up there, watching. "We should go after those papers on the food and taxes as soon as we can. Also, we must bring in people from the countryside, warn them we offer food and shelter for the winter."

"I'll see to it." Morgause paused. "And also, see that you have a crown."

"I don't need a crown."

"We already placed you on a throne you had no right to, by wielding the tides of a military victory and making people believe you summoned lightning from the skies all by yourself." Morgause dryly whispered. "The crown matters and I'll find you one."

"All right." Morgana said, seeing the merit of the argument. "You can find me a crown."

"Good." Her sister paused, frowning as she took in the pillars to her left. "Should I leave you two alone then?"

"Yes please."

"Wanna tell me what this is about?"

"You would be mad, so no."

Exasperation was becoming an all too familiar feeling in her sister's face, but Morgana wasn't stopping any time soon. When Morgause left, leaving her alone, Morgana felt the shadow moving from behind the pillar. She had been invited, but hadn't moved from her spot during the whole ordeal, and now, she wondered what would her actions bring.

"You tricked me." Mauren, sister to Tauren, and leader of a considerable number of warrior sorcerers, stood in front of her, eying everything like it was a pile of dung.

Morgana smiled. "How so?"

"It was clever. I was tired, hungry and tied to a pole, you had all the cards. It was hard to brush away the offer. I should have paid attention." The young woman bit down at her lip, her knuckles turning pale around the handle of her sword. "Since then, I had time to think it through, to mull it over. I was just watching my fighters partying with men from Essetir when it occurred to me. You promised I could take your life, but you never said anything about what your sister would do to me. Worse, now you're queen, and people already whisper about you as if you jumped right out the Goddess' arse to save them. Killing you now would only bring me and my men misery."

"You have great loyalty for them, and they for you." Morgana said, blinking down at her cracked nails. "When I had you, they didn't hesitate to drop their weapons in exchange for your life, there is beauty to that. I hope you appreciate it."

"I do." Mauren spit on a brazier and looked at her from the corner of her eye. "Now what?"

It was a good question, one that Morgana caught herself asking after every moment and everything she did. "To be honest, I was sincere when I offered you my life. Morgause would take over, and she would do a good job protecting our people, I have no doubt about that."

That seemed to shake her. "You wanted to die?"

"Not really, not anymore, but I've died before, there is not much to it. A little pain, a little despair, and it's done." She leaned over, resting her elbows on her legs, trying to peer through Mauren's armor. "If you're not interested in taking my life..."

"Yet."

"Yet" Morgana smiled. "Would you like to have a place in my court?"

Mauren huffed. "Aren't you getting ahead of yourself? What would I even do?"

"I'm not sure, I was thinking of giving you a position not much different from the First Knight of Camelot, the First Knight of Essetir."

"Essetir doesn't have knights."

Now Morgana shrugged, feeling a certain joy at her next words. "I'm Queen, it would be my pleasure to change that."

On the windowsill the crow opened its wings and took flight. As Morgana rested on her throne, she wondered about the coming months. Her sister was right in that they would be on thin ice for a while, tested and poked by enemies from all sides. Ahead of her, there were three months of winter, three months until war became viable and new battles came to her door.

Nodding to herself, she heard Mauren's demands and leaned back on her throne. There was a lot of work to do.

* * *

##################


	17. UNSTEADY GROUND

**UNSTEADY GROUND**

* * *

The king slept soundly in his bed, his face clean of worries, at peace while his chest moved up and down with each fresh spur of life. Her feet moved on their own, bare against the cold, spreading goose bumps all over her flesh as she finally stood over him, her hands holding the ornate blade in a deadly grip.

_He must pay._

When she looked down, it was only to softly touch the pad of her fingers to the bleeding gash that run through the middle her chest, the blood itself was dark and crusted, old.

_His doing._

With the tears burning tracks down her face, she raised the dagger and, with a mighty thrust, she brought it down, through the furs, skin and muscle, sinking it deep into his gut. It felt easy. It was just like when she had to gut chickens for a meal, or maybe a pig. His reaction was immediate. The king woke up, gasping, his eyes solid blue as they found her there, almost as if he was begging, but she had no mercy to spare. She brought the blade down again, and again, until the blood stained the bed, running over her legs, to her knees, and still she kept on, until her arms screamed from the strain and the blood flooded over her head, drowning her scream.

In the dream, if felt like she had torn her throat, but as she woke up, it was nothing but a gasp that escaped her lips, cold under the light of morning.

Panting, Gwen blinked at the room around her, clutching the sheets over her shoulders as the reality slowly settled in. Her hands, desperate, sought out her own chest, to find her flesh intact. _Good._ Gulping, Gwen had no problem lying back down to stare at ceiling, becoming aware of the whispered curses that came from the kitchen and grasped at her curiosity. With the cold biting at her skin, she stood on her feet, wrapping the furs around her shoulders as she brushed aside the drapes that separated her bedroom from the rest of the house. Sure enough, Elyan was struggling to pull his armor together, uselessly reaching behind his back to fit the gorget.

Letting out a sigh, Gwen quickly brushed his hands away. Now that he was a knight, the armor he wore was not held together by leather straps as in the past, no, this fine work used springs that she locked together, fitting the metal around his body, before stepping back. "You know you can wake me up to help out, don't you?"

"You needed the sleep."

A weary chuckle was her answer. "Everyone is in need of sleep, Elyan, it's what happens when a kingdom fights a war right before winter."

"Well, everyone is not my sister"

And there it was. Elyan might not be home all that often, but when he was, she felt this need of his to be a good brother, as if to make up for all those years of absence. Shaking her head, Gwen moved to the table. There was a recently cut piece of cheese there, and bread from two days ago, although the nightmare was fresh enough in her mind to make her stomach churn at the idea of food. Finally, she studied Elyan, the travel bag at his feet, and the scabbard he was tying around his waist. "Arthur is taking you with him."

"Yes."

"You barely got back"

He paused only briefly. "Well, this is very important, you know? I'm defending the Prince Regent himself, seeing to the safety of the kingdom."

"I know that." Gwen rebuked, feeling annoyed. They needed to move fast, while the storms were gone and the days were clear, while the tracks were fresh, Arthur said. "I just think you should rest for a while, going after a dangerous man so soon, I just…"

Her brother finished with the sword, and picked up the cloak, a beautiful thing, warm and waxed to keep the wearer dry even in rough weather. The golden dragon stitched to it seemed to almost shine, even under the dim light of her house.

"This is supposed to be a secret mission."

"And you should know better." He narrowed his eyes at her, not in accusation, but in a clear insinuation that she shouldn't know about it. "Arthur told me."

"Of course he did."

"I know you're gonna do something dangerous." Gwen brushed a hand over her hair. It was too early to be this annoyed. "I know there was a patrol that was attacked on the border, I know three men died, I know and I've heard the rumors about druids and sorcerers traveling in numbers. People are scared Elyan."

"They shouldn't be, Lord Cygnus reported his men defeated a whole camp of sorcerers just the other day." His assurance was not good, and he noticed and he seemed annoyed. "What do you want from me?"

"I just want you to be safe."

Seeming to understand something, Elyan offered her a smile, a reassuring thing, something their father wore often. It hurt to see it now. "Don't worry, soon enough I'll be here bothering you like always."

He leaned down and, on a whim, she kissed his cheek. Elyan seemed surprised, but perhaps that was just another symptom of them still trying to patch things up after years apart.

The truth was that the mere mention of sorcery made Gwen's heart start beating a little faster. Although she often shared Morgana's distaste with executions in the past, her own experiences had been far too unpleasant for it not to be so, already she was almost burned because Uther thought her a witch.

As her brother left, she stole a glance at her sewing basket, right where she had left, with a wool hat half way done, and its contents the same as they had always been. Chewing at her lower lip, she approached the basket like one might a wild beast, until the dagger was in her hands. She had found it, hidden under Uther's bed, and until now, she had no idea why she kept it.

She couldn't bring herself to give it to Arthur, imagining his mood souring at the mere reminder of the woman they had both known since childhood. Twice she had tried already. It was his present to Morgana after all, his gift, it should be his now, to keep it or throw away, but whenever she saw the toll the kingdom was taking on him, she couldn't bring herself to add more weight on his shoulders and so she denied him. Blinking, she found another gift, a piece of fine velvet that had been done so beautifully she had never found a proper use for it.

If Arthur had given her a gift, Gwen had received one, although looking back, perhaps it had meant nothing at all to the cunning woman that had tricked them for months. _Did I ever?_

A rooster suddenly sung its morning song, and Gwen brushed her thoughts away as the tasks of the day came back to the front of her mind. She caught her basket, shoved the dagger inside, and quickly washed her face. She was already late. Brushing her teeth, Gwen grabbed her own cloak and gloves, stepping outside into a Camelot covered by a white sheet of snow. Houses and streets seemed to blend together seamlessly, and it was almost hard to tell the difference between the powerful fortress and the small hovels from lower town.

As she walked outside, she met the noise of the horses coming down the street and soon enough, Camelot's banner was seen brushed by the wind, while a line of knights followed in its wake. Immediately, her eyes darted to the first rider, armored head to toe atop of a white gelded, his eyes meeting her for the briefest moments. Riding behind Arthur, Merlin seemed almost a copy of the prince in his apparent determination, although he still spared her a grin when he saw her. When the knights were finally gone, and the sight of her brother also vanished from her sight, Gwen couldn't help but feel the loneliness settling in, guilt from the dream and fear for the future, thinking that perhaps she might see Lancelot later. If there was one thing about the man was that his presence was soothing, no matter what.

The guards of the citadel barely paid her any attention when she walked past, but standing atop of the stairs, Lord Hector spared a bellyful look to where the line of riders had disappeared behind the hill, while by his side, Lord Agravaine seemed completely uninterested. She was careful when watching them, because although she wasn't afraid, Lord Hector seemed to dislike her. With that in mind, she waited until they went back inside to follow suit. In winter, many parts of the castle were as cold as the outside, but the kitchens were always warm. Adjusting her basket to her elbow, she reached a small table in front of the oven where a guard and Fal were watching a young man tasting the food. They waited a moment, and when nothing happened, she was allowed to take the meal, the guard not far behind, until she reached the King's chambers, whose door was also guarded.

Feeling her mouth dry all of the sudden, she moved in, finding that the king was in deep sleep, which for one was a blessing. Sometimes she would arrive and the man would be dead on his feet from spending the night awake. Not that he didn't look dead already. Leaving the breakfast on the table, Gwen pulled at her skirts and attended to the fire as the doors closed behind her back. When roaring flames were alive and heating up the chambers she pulled at the end of the furs and took away the bed warmer where the coals were cold and dead.

Finally, she moved to the chair by his side, but when she reached out to wake him up, her hand hovered.

He was an old man, Gwen realized, as if the thought had never occurred to her before. Uther Pendragon had always seemed such a scary figure in her mind, a source of power that could kill people with a gesture, not unlike a sorcerer from the stories told in the tavern, but lying before her, was an old man, with wrinkled skin and feeble of body, not at all the nightmarish monster her dream-self had so much pleasure in killing, but did that really matter?

Once upon a time she was just a servant, looking after a sweet young girl that was gentle, kind and strong. She had her father and her brother looking after her, she had love from all sides, and moments of gossip where they would watch Arthur and his aids with fun little puns thrown around. Those days were gone now, first her brother, leaving home to seek his own path, and even now he was always away. Then her father, and the hurt of that was suddenly fresh and bleeding. Looking back, losing Morgana to sorcery seemed almost inevitable.

_It's all your fault._

The accusation never left her lips, but it lingered in her thoughts even while they darted to the dagger still inside her basket. Secretly, she almost wished Morgana had killed him, secretly, she could phantom a world where Uther didn't exist, when she was whole and even Arthur wouldn't need to beg for approval.

_Arthur._

The thought made she feel as if something ugly and dark was suddenly seeping into her skin, and Gwen felt it as it was, guilty for taking care of that man while her own father was dead. Guilty because she thought so horribly about Arthur's father. He was always going on about missing the man, and his wisdom. Was such thing even real or was it only the fantasies of a child? Perhaps Uther was a good king if it wasn't for his fear of sorcery, of Magic.

Perhaps is should be for a world without magic that she wished for. Her father had messed with it, her best friend had involved herself in it, Uther had lashed out whenever the word was mentioned and Camelot had suffered again and again, all because magic existed.

She had suffered again and again.

On the bed, Uther stirred, breaking her musings. Eager for a distraction now, Gwen finally shook his shoulder, waiting patiently for the man to wake up. His eyes met hers, without really seeing much, and with a sigh, she followed the routine. "Sire, it's morning, I brought you your breakfast. I know you must be hungry."

The king blinked her way, and under her prompting, finally managed to sit up, his movements sluggish and uncertain. Taking a step back, Gwen turned her back to him, idly listening to him going through the process of using the chamber pot. When he was done she brought his basin along with the soap, and again prompted him to clean up, before guiding him to the chair by the window, a place he seemed to like.

"Where is Arthur?"

The question caught her unawares. Arthur would usually eat with the king in the mornings, but today that was not possible. "He had matters away from the citadel, sire. He will be back soon, I'm sure."

Uther nodded, and she knew right away this would be another day where the plate would remain full unless she grabbed a few bites herself. She was about to sit down and go about some sewing when the bellows came, the voices turning to words as they came closer.

"Lord Hector! I command you to stop!"

There was a halt of feet as Lord Agravaine's voice roared from the hallway. Sparing a glance for the unmoving king, Gwen lifted her skirts and moved to the door, taking a peek outside. She found Lord Hector there, the tall man looking behind his back, while a guard that had clearly been pushed aside was slowly getting to his feet.

"You have no right to command me, Agravaine."

"The prince regent has given me full authority upon his absence." Agravaine pointed out, and now she could see him at the end of the hallway with two guards lingering at his back, clearly under his command. "You would do well to remember that, Hector."

"The king must know what has happened."

"The king is sick and in bed."

"You sniveling worm." Hector accused, his voice carrying the sort of disgust Gwen had seldom bared witness to. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You've hidden behind that castle of yours all those years, ruminating upon your family's graves, waiting for this exact moment." Hector walked until he was standing right in front of Agravaine's face. "I bet you love that our king is sick, I bet you're all right at seeing heathens and heretics taking over this kingdom, but I promise you, I won't allow it."

"Prince Arthur is the regent of this kingdom and he is doing everything in his power to see these matters solved."

"He is uncertain, had it been Uther he would have ridden out, snows or not and hunted those vermin to the end of the earth. Instead, of doing that our prince delays, he grows complacent and weak."

For a long stretch of silence, Agravaine simply stared the man down, his hand twitching by his side. "I would watch your tongue if I were you."

Hector snorted. "Wait until the king hears of this."

"The king is sick, and you're disturbing him. Since it's my responsibility to care for him, you will see yourself away before I throw you into the dungeon."

Lord Hector seemed to finally understand the threat, and even though he followed the command, his laugh was dry and mocking, his eyes angry as he finally disappeared.

"I want you to double the guard in those chambers, the prince ordered only Gaius and the servant enter and you shall follow those orders" Agravaine told the guards. His eyes came to the door, and Gwen realized he had sighted her, that gaze locking her feet on the ground, cold and mocking, but perhaps that was just her imagination as the scene repeated in her mind again and again.

Arthur couldn't return soon enough.

* * *

The air around him was cutting as Merlin pulled up his cloak in a pitiful attempt to warm himself as he squatted behind a tree, wishing that he could make use of his magic for once, but alas, the score of knights around him made that a very bad idea.

They had left Camelot two days ago, and already he could feel the frustration growing around the camp at night, as the search for the runaway sorcerer continued, although Arthur himself seemed more eager than tired. When night came along they found shelter in a small village at the edge of the darkling woods, but by morning it was once more time to hunt and Arthur was always ahead, leading the charge, him face hold that same determined grimaced that haunted his features since he heard the reports.

"Osgar vanished for years." Arthur had pointed out, and his eyes held a certain touch of fear. Osgar was famous for the many dead knights under his belt, a socerer that had slipped even Uther in his prime only to show up now of all time. "There has been sightings of magic all over the kingdom for weeks now, and the druids are moving in numbers. You think he might be responsible?"

"I don't know." Was all he could say.

"What do you know, Merlin?"

A lot as it happens. He knew sorcerers had their own ways of braving the weather, he knew spells to tame fire and wind and he could speak to dragons until they obeyed him. He also knew the answers Arthur was seeking in this journey, that the fault for the deaths and conflicts that had already happened over the kingdom fell on the shoulders of two women in the east, but he couldn't tell him anything or else risk his own life, a choice that weighted on him everyday. Already, Arthur had received news of his knights dying when they came across sorcerers, already, the prince was sending more men to secure his people and already the fear was driving the mood of the council. Some days, when he stood by shadows, Merlin almost felt like he was hearing a dozen Uthers trying to speak at the same time. It was an impossible choice.

"If we tell Arthur, what would that accomplish?" Gaius had questioned him." At best, he will know something that will disturb him and that Camelo is in no way ready to face, at worst, he will be force to question me and you in regards to magic."

"But, he know you used to practice magic."

Gaius had deflated. "Tell me, Merlin, do you really think you can explain the difference between been the unwilling receiver of a magical spell and its user? Right now, Morgana and Morgause have hardened Camelot's stance on magic, if the council hears even a whisper of this we might both end on a pyre."

"Arthur wouldn't..."

"Regardless, would you put him in that position?"

"No." He said without a doubt. "What will happen, Gaius?"

"I don't know, Merlin, I don't know."

Closing his eyes, the young warlock could almost hear it again. Morgause's voice, calling to their people in the name of Morgana and forcing this whole situation on the world. She would never rest, Merlin realized. Morgana had no idea what her actions brought. Instead of watching his dreams of freedom come closer, Merlin only saw the conflict rising and now, here he was, hunting one of his own with Arthur by his side. It seemed he and his people were cursed to feel the consequences of Morgana's actions.

A hand suddenly landing on his shoulder made him jump from where he was sitting, only to meet Percival's eyes piercing him from above. "We've got him, Merlin, come on."

Heart jumping to his throat, he quickly got to his feet, walking deep around the naked trees and dark trunks, the snow crunching under his boots until he was once more by Arthur's side. The prince seemed to be waiting for him, because as soon as he arrived, Arthur signaled the men to his left and right, moving forward. The formation spread seamlessly. It was a long chain, where each man would always have two others on sight, and signals would be sent along the chain allowing them to round the prey.

And Osgar was prey, of that Merlin had no doubt, but like a cornered boar, he was dangerous.

Biting his lower lip, he crouched by Arthur's side. Their approach was slow and silent, and soon enough Merlin realized they were all moving towards a thin trail of smoke that he could see right ahead. Suddenly, the knights around him were more like shadows, their breaths smoking angrily, the silence all-encompassing as he stared at Arthur's eyes, blue and pale and steely.

"Are you sure it's him?"

The question was a whisper, but the prince heard. "Elyan said the description matches."

"But…"

"If we're wrong, I'll personally apologize." Arthur grumbled, the naked steel shining in his hands, steel that might soon be drenched in blood, steel he would have to clean later on.

"Be careful."

"I'm always careful." Smirking, Arthur raised his hands and signaled the attack.

Along the line, the knights saw it.

They struck down like a pack of wolves, all together, bared swords and shining armor – their cloaks were gone to better hide their presence – and Merlin, caught glimpses of them like bright spots passing through the woods, he himself running along behind Arthur. Ahead, he felt a sudden spike, an ominous shift in the air that told him magic was being used without restraint, cries of battle and magical words echoes in his ears, only for him to arrive onto a finished battle.

A dozen knights were surrounding the sorcerer, whose gut was pierced and bleeding, but two were down on the ground. Elyan was getting to his feet, but Sir Ranulf was unmoving.

"I wanted him alive! I…" Arthur's voice balked at the sight of the still knight, and then… "Merlin!"

"I'm on it!"

He knelt down, not worried about the sorcerer falling on his knees by his side, at this distance he was even better positioned to stop any attack on Arthur. Quickly, he checked for a pulse, it was faint but it was there. Checking the rest of the man's body, Merlin quietly uncorked his water-skin and poured some over the knight until he was spluttering and coughed back to conscience. "He has a broken arm, but he should be fine."

It was like a storm cloud had suddenly vanished from Arthur's face, pain crawling its way into his eyes only to be reined back in name of his mission. His arm shook when he pointed the sword at Osgar, his voice roaring. "I want answers and you shall give them to me."

While two knights dragged a cursing Ranulf back to his feet, Merlin watched the man's eyes for a hint of golden light, knowing no one was above vengeance and anger even on the brink of death, but Osgar didn't move beyond clutching his wound. Despite his reputation of a killer, he eyed Arthur with something akin to pity.

"Y-you have nothing… Nothing to fear from me, Arthur Pendragon."

"It's prince Arthur" Percival said, grabbing the man's shoulder's, but beyond a moan of pain there was no other reaction, while his clothes turned scarlet red.

"No games." Arthur said, through gritted teeth. "There are hundreds of sorcerers showing up in my kingdom, druids are seen traveling through the woods, you'll tell me why!"

The man blinked, shaking his head. He was losing conscience, and the knight holding him had to shake him awake.

"Tell me!"

"I am sent from the sacred Disir to pass judgement on Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King." Osgar said through his broken breath, and Arthur frowned in confusion.

"What right have you to pass judgement?" Elyan asked.

"No man is above the Disir - however royal. It is my duty to pass their judgement on to you, d-dread King." A hand disappeared inside his robes, and Percival was quick to intercept it, his hold was strong, and Merlin cringed at the pained expression that flashed across Osgar's face. "It's my duty… No harm…"

Percival gave no heed. He sought the item and studied it for a moment, delivering it to Arthur. Merlin saw that it was a small trinket of clay, engraved with runes he couldn't read, much less the prince apparently.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"It is both j-judgement and fate. You have waged war on the people of the Old Religion. Now… Now the ancient gods answer you. T-the Disir have spoken, the circle of fate closes, for as Camelot recovers the seeds of its destruction bloom even faster."

"What nonsense is this?" Arthur screamed. "That is not what I want to know! Tell me why the sorcerers are showing up… tell me…"

But Osgar was already dead, his head lowered down and his last whisper was so low, Merlin barely heard it. "It's … not… too late…"

For a long moment nobody moved in the clearing, and then Percival finally let Osgar fall over the snow, his eyes staring and seeing nothing. Out of habit, Merlin numby checked the man's pulse, taking in his features. He was a man grown, with scars and wrinkles, probably a boy at the of the purge, but overall he seemed nothing like the terrible stories told about him, of a butcher of men and defiler of women, an fanatic and heretic. No, looking at him, still like that, Merlin could almost imagine himself knowing Osgar, being friends with him, but them again, in a better world, he might've been friends with many dead people.

"Are you all right, Sir Ranulf?"

Arthur was asking his friend, who grunted atop of his horse. "The bastard caught me by surprise, my prince, nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure, that is your shield arm."

Merlin approached the two of them carefully, quickly improvising a splint for the man. "Shields are an inconvenience, one might say I fight better without one."

"Merlin will take care of you."

"Aye, he better, or I might break his arm, see if he likes it!" Sir Ranulf laughed out loud, his charming smile making it clear it was a joke, although one Merlin failed to find it funny. "No worries, Arthur, soon enough I'll be out there hunting those dogs for you."

Arthur barely hesitated, although his smiled seemed forced. "I'm glad to hear it, Sir."

Watching his retreating back, Merlin wondered at that hesitation, at the object Osgar fought so hard to deliver. Now that he thought about it, was it really a coincidence that the man was surrounded? By his reputation alone, the sorcerer should've evaded them for days, he could've fought and killed many of them before been brought down, and yet, beyond the broken arm he was currently treating, Osgar hadn't tried to hurt them. As Arthur peered at the piece of clay, he wondered if the prince realized that as well.

"Fuck! Watch what you're doing boy!"

"Sorry" Merlin mumbled, finishing the splint and letting Ranulf go, his gaze traveling back to Osgar's body, still lying on the ground, alone and exposed.

Later, he would return and dig him a grave, the law forbid it, but Osgar didn't seem evil. He had died for something even if he didn't understand what it was. No, Osgar deserved a proper resting place, or as best as Merlin could provide when he returned later on, by himself.

* * *

The family that sheltered them for night was formed by a farmer, his wife and three young sons, none of which were old enough to hold a sword, yet helping their father fix the roof when they arrived. In moments, greetings were exchanged, and Arthur offered half of their supplies as payment for their stay so as to not hurt their pride. No matter how afraid he was of offending them, he could bring himself to eat their food, knowing he had ask his allies for supplies in a action he knew his father would never have approved and that half of council had argued against, saying they would seem weak. For Arthur, making sure his people were fed didn't seem like weakness. Perhaps the fact that he had to write three times to some people might have seem like begging in their eyes, but Arthur had learned some things from Gwen, and while his table might not lack much, it wasn't the case for everyone.

After dinner, he brought his men into the barn, where they made a fireplace to burn through the night and made beds out of the hay, the sleep falling upon his men quickly even with the wind whistling through the beams in the roof. He himself remained awake, idly aware of Merlin helping Sir Ranulf get comfortable, while he run his bare fingers over the markings that Osgar gave him. The clay felt smooth and clean, the circle polished almost to perfection, and that man had stood through a sword in the guts to give it to him. He hadn't begged for a healer or for help, nothing someone sane would do.

"What are you thinking?" Merlin's eyes had been intense and shy all at once, as if he wanted but didn't dare to hold his gaze for long.

"What do you think of this?" He had finally asked, holding the trinket.

"I think we should ask Gaius about it."

"So you think he was serious?" Arthur probed, feeling the chill of another night not so much like this one.

"Don't you? You haven't stopped playing with that since you got it."

"He was deranged." He concluded. "A mad man."

"If you say so."

And there was that Merlin shrug that told him he disagreed with what he was saying, but that he wouldn't argue about it. Narrowing his eyes, Arthur threw the runemark at him, watching his servant struggling to catch it before it landed on his lap. "What do you think?"

"I…" Merlin observed the rune for a bit, and Arthur waited, for something, he wasn't sure what it was, but it was there, just at the edge of his thoughts, provoking him. "I think, it's dangerous to dismiss other people's beliefs."

And then he had been the one looking away, a derisive snort escaping his lips. "Of course you would say something like that Merlin, but don't worry, there is nothing to be afraid of. Plenty of knights around to keep you safe and, as long as you cooking us good meals, we will."

Smirking, he finally lied down to sleep.

"Don't you want this?"

"Keep it." He briefly considered mounting it on the wall like his father probably would, but that made him remember the staff, and the staff brought him back to Morgana and, suddenly, he didn't want to look at it anymore.

In Arthur's memories, Morgana stood before him with hunched shoulders claiming to be tired, in his memories, Osgar said it wasn't too late while speaking of seeds of destruction. In his mind, he saw sorcerers approaching, shadows from every corner, tearing down at his kingdom and his friends. In his mind he saw Sir Ranulf wasn't hurt, but dead, someone he knew from childhood, and it frightened how easily that could've been a reality. Inwardly, he wondered if this is how it felt like before the purge, walking around afraid to meet a man as powerful as to rule your mind and throw you with a word whispered from his lips. He wondered how it was possible that Camelot survived at all with so much power at the hands of people, power that so easily twisted. That is what magic was, he though, men and women who wanted life to be easy, who wanted to take and take until nothing was left, and used their beliefs to frighten and justify their actions. Merlin might say it was dangerous to dismiss peoples' beliefs, but Arthur saw only superstitions and chaos. He might not have gotten his answers, but Osgar was still dead and as far as Arthur was concerned he was just another dangerous man sent to an unmarked grave. Justice was made and yet, satisfaction felt foreign to him as of lately.

On the next day, he rode in the head of the column with Merlin at his side, wrapped in so many furs he looked like a bear cub as the wind threw snow at their faces. Camelot loomed over him from the hills, a shadow more menacing that a home should be and soon enough he was riding through the lower town feeling heavy and tired, his passage greeted by bows of reverence from those who dared venture outside their homes. The gates were open when he came to the plaza, and he threw the reins towards a stable boy just as George came racing down the stairs to meet him.

"Merlin, do me a favor and go to Gaius, see what he can say about that rune."

His friend blinked, nodded once and then George was there, speaking in a hurried precise tone.

"Sire, your arrival is very timely, and your presence has been requested in the throne room."

Arthur frowned, as far as he remembered, the throne room was still being rebuilt after Morgana's destruction. "What is it, have we received news from Amata?"

"From Essetir, sire, and the king has requested your presence."

Arthur stopped short, by his side, Merlin tripped on nothing, and atop the stairs he saw Gwen coming down, her face strangely stoic under her hood while hope curled around his heart like a warm hug. Not waiting for any of them, Arthur raced into the citadel, taking the steps two at a time, eager for a sight that could finally keep his world steady and solid once again.

* * *

##################


	18. SAFE

**SAFE  
**

* * *

The spell was a simple enough thing, an enchantment he learned on his first days among the druids, words that made the air around him warm and cosy and not at all the freezing cold that risked turning his toes black by the end of the night. Of course, Kara had to build a fire anyway. The way Aglain explained, the spell was only useful to trap the heat around them instead of letting it get away. So, after he finished muttering the words of what might as well be his nightly prayer, he watched her piling a bunch of twigs and then looking for him again. One more word and they had sparks bringing a flame to life.

"Rabbit or bread?" She asked, rummaging around her bag.

Mordred thought about the question for a moment. The bread was old, the rabbit, Kara herself had caught that same morning. Sitting on a trunk and rubbing his nose, he took a look at the moon peering at him from between the clouds. Clouds of clear winter skies, not clouds for a storm.

"I think we can eat everything." He said, very aware of his empty stomach and uncertain of how she would take the suggestion. Mordred didn't want to seem desperate or selfish. "I mean, we'll get there tomorrow anyway, won't we? We will get food then."

Kara scrunched her face, her eyes had a hard edge to them even when she looked so much her age, his own age. Not for the first time, Mordred wondered if he had those eyes as well.

"We shouldn't risk it." She saved the bread. "We don't know if this place is safe, we don't know if your friend will help us. Maybe they will try to kills us and we'll have to run."

"Morgana is good." Mordred thought back to those days when sickness and grief had paralyzed him, and her gentle touch was the only thing he clung to, that and meeting Emrys in person. The hope of their people, real and in the flesh. "She saved my life, she will help us."

"You don't know that."

"I know."

Kara watched the roasting rabbit and narrowed her eyes. "I still think we should've gone north."

He knew then, that there was nothing he could really say anymore. North had been her parents' goal, north meant safety, meant a land where having magic and druid marks didn't make your life harder. Those were lands were laws were few or absent and the kings cared only for themselves. A harsh life, but one where they wouldn't be hunted. Being found by them, traveling with them, Mordred had almost dared to have hope again, because he was foolish and naive. His master, the other druids, Alvarr, whenever he dared to hope his life was finally getting better things would burn around him. Last time even Emrys had almost killed him. Maybe it was his fault in the end, bad luck. Maybe he was cursed like in those stories people would tell at Samhain. Everything told him so, because one day, when the knights came upon them, when their leader caught sight of the poultice that had healed his fever that same night, everything he could do was snap a man's neck, take Kara's hand and run as far as he could, her parent's blood burning spots on his boots.

Now the boots were clean, but he was still Mordred, and somewhat he was afraid everything would go wrong again. One night, he was so scared after a nightmare he briefly considered leaving Kara. He would leave the food and the extra cloak and run away as far as he could so as to not bring his curse upon her, but in the end he watched her crying in her sleep and held her through the night. In the end he was too much of a coward, too selfish.

Looking at his friend now, he supposed it was a good thing she was talking at all given those first days in the wild when she would stare blankly at nothing while he would try to get food, digging up for roots and mushrooms, carving bark to get at the sap under it, all unsuccessful. They had almost starved before Mordred finally ventured into stealing something. They were easing their aching stomachs by sharing a piece of dry meat he stole from a tavern's storage when the woman spoke in their minds, Morgana's name working as a guiding light even through the rumors he heard along the way, of the witch from Camelot, the butcher queen. Kara was suspicious, but she was talking, and he thought that was a good thing. She also started to sharpen that sword, the blade that almost killed her and that was too big for her hands. The whetstone running down the blade made a shrill song around their small camp every night, the darkness of eyes growing with it.

Licking his lips, Mordred considered her for a moment, then the fire, feeling the heat on his face, and the memories of lives past, trying to think of what brought comfort to the heart.

**"Upastiye fifaldan" **he whispered, the first spell he ever learned.

The embers gained life, and danced in the air. First individually and then together, forming half dozen butterflies of eerie glow. Kara looked up from her sword, following the butterflies until they vanished into the night, and one could almost imagine they would turn into stars if they flew high enough, and their light reflected on her gaze.

When she said _"Thank you"_ it was the first time she touched his mind.

The second time was when she woke him up by early morning, her hand clamped on his mouth. _"Don't speak."_

He stared at her silently, the surprise slowly giving away to horror as he became aware of someone screaming at the distance.

"I'll do anything… Please don't hurt m…" He cringed when the voice was cut off, and right away he was on his feet sharing a look with his friend that was both fright and surprise. Following Kara, he crawled on the snow until he was laying down atop of a shallow slope, the cold seeping into his clothes as he leaned over to see. "P-please… I don't want trouble…"

The man begging was right in the middle, hugging his knees and cowering around himself in a futile attempt of protection. He wasn't old, his head was balding, and his clothes were weathered furs, which were taken from him piece by piece, his boots were already gone and around him, five men were busy sneering and laughing at his whimpering.

"I thought these sorcerers would be tougher" One of them said.

"They aren't that tough by themselves, right demon?" They were soldiers, Mordred thought, watching their mail and leather armor, the one speaking had a helmet on, which hid his face as he took the man's cloak. "I was there in the battle, your demon queen burned half of my face with a fire ball."

A kick, then another, more whimpers were the only answer, but Mordred could half understand the pleading. _Please let me go, please let me go, please let me go…_

_"We have to do something"_ Kara sent into his mind.

The frosty serpent that squeezed into his soul stopped his answer. He watched them again, five men, with bloody crowns on their doublets, armored and armed. When he thought of helping he could only see himself alone once more, when he thought of helping he thought of Morgana protecting him, when he thought of helping he remembered that Kara was there and he was cursed. He would never know what decision he would've made, because suddenly he was pulled back by rough hands and Kara managed only a gasp before they were both thrown down to the rest of the soldiers.

"We've got something here captain!"

Mordred coughed, swallowing a mouthful of snow and struggling to regain his bearings, while Kara didn't hesitate, she grunted, barely managing to lift the sword enough for a swing. One of the soldiers caught the blade in his hands, laughing before pushing her to the ground.

"No!" He screamed, feeling that wave of power, so familiar and welcome at the moment. The soldier was thrown away before he could touch Kara, crashing against a tree and falling in a broken heap. Immediately, something blunt hit the side of his head, his vision exploded in a blur of stars and Mordred fell, the voices becoming faint all around him.

"Fuck, the kid is another one."

"Those bastards are everywhere!"

"Mordred!"

"Shut up, you little bitch."

"They are kids…"

"They are monsters!"

"Let's kill these freaks and get out of here."

Mordred groaned, he tried to call Kara, but he wasn't sure he managed to say her name. In front of him, he saw a face under the blue sky, laying there on the cold he wondered what he was doing. Something was on his hand, it was coming down on him and he understood it would be painful, at least until the shape was thrown away from him. Mordred blinked, swallowed by darkness and when he came to again, the sky was still blue, but he wasn't lying on the cold. Kara was there, her eyes wide. She was holding him, and people were screaming, steel was hitting against steel.

"Behind you Pylah!"

"Got it!"

"Protect the kids!"

He heard horses shuffling around, and turned his head, wondering what was actually happening around him. He met the empty eyes of a dead man instead, his body covered by arrows making him look strangely like a porcupine. Beyond the corpse he saw a soldier running away, and then a rider passed him by, a long dark braid flying at the back while a blade glowed under the winter sun, cutting the soldier's head in one swift swing, and like a bell the act seemed to swallow the sounds of battle. Around him, Mordred could feel Kara's arms tightening their hold as the rider climbed down from the horse to look at them, her pale face scowling before looking over her shoulder.

"Pylah, there is one hurt here, come on!"

"I'm on it" Another face got in front of him, this one dark and smiling. "Hey there, I'm not gonna hurt you, all right? Just let me take a look."

Kara didn't lose her hold, but Mordred felt the magic envelop him, refreshing and deep. He didn't understand the words, but he immediately felt better, her face becoming clear as he managed to speak. "T-thanks, Pylah?"

"Mordred." The woman said, laughing. "I can't believe you're alive, and lucky too. The wound was easy enough, you wouldn't believe how many hits to the head I heal every week."

"I thought you were dead."

Pylah shrugged. "It's good to see you, we'll talk more later all right?"

_"Are you all right?" _Kara asked as Aglain's daughter left, and he offered his reassurance by sitting down and smiling.

"And you, what is your name?" Turning to see what was happening, they saw the pale woman from before, and for the first time, Mordred got a good look at her. First, she seemed to be the one charge. Second, she wore full knight regalia, with chainmail and armor, and a dark cloak stitched with a red tree.

At her feet, the man the soldiers had been attacking was trying and apparently failing to look away both from the woman and the corpses around him. "I-I'm Trickler, that is my name, T-trickler…"

"Strange name." The woman noted. "I'll take a wild guess and say you're after Queen Bitch?"

"Mauren!"

"Fuck off, Forridel."

Forridel shook her head, directing her words at the man. "She is asking if you came to find Queen Morgana, refugees have been coming to Corbenic from everywhere these days."

Mordred had no idea where Corbenic was, but the mention of Morgana was enough to have him nodding his head. From his side, Pylah was smiling as she helped them to their feet. "Well, you three are lucky, we've been hunting those men for days."

"What did they do?" Kara asked.

"Well, they were soldiers, but them they lost and instead of running away to Mercia with their master, they stayed and started attacking innocent people."

"And it's our pleasure to take them down." Mauren said from her own horse. "Now let's load up and get out of here, I want to get back before Alvarr and his group of morons, you know how they eat all the food."

* * *

"That looks like a fine weapon." The woman who asked the question was the blond the others called Forridel.

These warriors, men and women both, were forming a circle around her, Mordred and that Trickler man, letting them ride on horses while they crossed the forest, and that was the first time one of them spoke. It took some time for Kara to realize she was speaking of the sword on her lap, the Camelot blade had a dragon on the pome, and a polished wood handle which seemed expensive.

"Thanks."

"Where did you get it?"

Biting her lip, she looked over at Mordred. Her friend still seemed too pale for her taste, more than usual, but his smile assured her enough to answer. "I took it from a dead knight."

At once, Forridel's eyes narrowed and her lips pursed as if deep in thought. "Is that why you two were traveling alone?"

Kara shrugged. Was there really a need to say anything? The only reason for a girl and a boy of barely fourteen summers to travel by themselves was because something horrible happened.

_"Are you all right?"_

_"Yes." _One thing that came with speaking in someone else's mind was that it was very easy to pick on emotions and Mordred's emotions lingered from concern to something alien that made looking at him difficult. _"You must be happy."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"You'll get to see your friend again, that is what you wanted."_

She dared to meet his eyes, bright blue, confused. She didn't blame him; she was confused too. There was a spot of blood still hanging from his hair, and she could only think of the moment the soldier hat hit him in the head, the sight of his blood and the way his eyes seemed to not see her. It made her feel as cold as her parent's deaths, which frightened her. Kara had been sure she had nothing left to lose, but apparently she did. It wasn't just a matter of missing her father's singing and her mother's rueful scolding when she came back from playing in the mud, it was also Mordred and his stupid butterflies.

The rest of their trip seemed almost uncomfortable, with them idly listening to the chatter of the warriors. Occasionally, they would speak about Morgana or something, as if for their benefit, and she could see Mordred drinking every word. Queen Morgana made magic legal in Essetir. Queen Morgana was fighting slavery. Queen Morgana was feeding the people and negotiating with the druids. Even Kara admitted it all sounded too good. When she finally laid eyes on Cenred's Castle, or Corbenic as her rescuers called it, she almost expected to find roads of gold leading inside, and flowers blooming as if the woman could bring spring itself to life.

Being from a family of wandering travelers, Kara should've seen a lot of stuff in her life, but their druid origins always forced them to keep away, living deep in woods, marshlands and the countryside in general, places with greater promise of safety. She was still disappointed. The castle properly seemed almost like a disproportionate thing, with round and square towers, and walls that seemed to bloom from the ground around the main keep, as if people had been building around previous castles for ages. It laid flat on the ground, surrounded by a village where people walked around, carrying beams of fresh cut wood, piling stones and thatch hoofs. They were traveling through a village in construction.

"They come from everywhere." Forridel told her. "Some are from villages that would starve otherwise, others come from further afield seeking shelter and freedom to be themselves."

Kara frowned, not believing her. Grown-ups always lied when they promised things like that.

A bunch of boys took their horses in the courtyard and Kara followed the others into a huge hall, its space crowded by long tables where people eat and talked in a cacophony of sounds that made her nervous. By her side, Mordred seemed to share her mind, grabbing her hand only to blush. She didn't complain. In moments they had bowls placed in front of them, the smell heavenly and the taste even better. As she chewed in a chunk of meat, she watched them, these people.

Men, women and children, druid marks and clean faces, all sitting in the same room although not really side by side, small groups all of them, except a man on the far corner, talking to a bunch of kids. She was trying to discover what they were doing when Mordred gasped by her side.

He was looking to a portal to a side door where a woman had just entered. She was beautiful, Kara noticed right away, and then she really took her in. She was wearing a black wool dress, and gloves, her dark hair covered by a crown of silver shaped like a dragon whose wings were gathered back to flank her head, if that wasn't enough for her to recognize Queen Morgana, the brief hush along the hall and Mordred's back as he run towards the woman was.

Some guards tried to stop him in vain, but soon enough the woman saw him too, and her face blinked. She seemed like she couldn't believe her eyes, and then the two were hugging, right there in the hall, saying words she couldn't hear. Feeling like she was invading a private moment, Kara looked away – many others doing the same – and again she sought the man with the children. As if on a cue, he clapped his hands, making dozens of butterflies jump from the light of the candles, flying dreamily over the children who happily started chasing them.

* * *

"Mauren and Alvarr both assure they swept the country clean, but I think we should keep our eyes open nonetheless." Ruadan advised them that afternoon. "After what happened in Oldoak, we should keep ourselves alert."

"I agree" Morgana said to the people around her. "We shall keep to the patrols until further notice."

"Such tragedy, let's hope we might avoid another one like that." Lady Cerys spoke, bringing the whole table to be quiet. Oldoaks had been a small village south of the Ouse, a lively place, Morgana was told, until survivors of Lot's army sacked it and put everything to the torch.

"There won't." Morgana answered a little forcefully. "It's with that in mind that Ruadan has been reforming our army."

Her council was a distinguish unique thing from everything she had known as a child.

Uther's council as she remembered had always been compromised of few people and they were usually all old men, old men who would lick her warden's boots and kiss his arse at a moment's notice, men who shared his views in anything from taxes to the proper color of a drape. The idea of such a nest of weeds nauseated her to no end, and so she was glad to find a rather good balance in her own kingdom. No, her council was made of anything but boot-lickers.

Lady Cerys sat across from her, occupying one of the two chairs she promised to keep Essetir's nobility happy, the other one belonged to Lady Elaine and both of them were a welcome challenge on their own, if only to keep her on her toes. The old brendui, Nyely, sat close to the fire, claiming her old bones liked the warmth, while Ruadan and Morgause flanked her left and right. Each one there had their own wisdom to offer on matters of state, but no one had publicly asked her about the empty chair, which she found both amusing and satisfying.

Sitting around the table in what used to be Cenred's solar, they silently listened to Ruadan going on about their numbers, the man was dressed warmly, his only jewellery was a silver chain given for his position as chief of her army. "We aren't nearly strong enough to place border patrols, so that job will remain with the local lords for now, but our strength is growing in numbers every day. The new policies on recruitment certainly helped."

One of her first big declarations was to allow garrisons to recruit both young men and women from the lowborn, since it was both a good way to fill ranks as well as establishing changes in the long run. It was foolish after all to keep a whole half of the population away from the fighting, she had seen how effective this could be back in Ealdor. Her only worries were in keeping the work load. Women were responsible for a great many things, from mixing butter to sewing and her people needed proper clothing as much as they needed protection. Still, many nobles hesitated or simply didn't follow her instructions, something that she would have to work on carefully, at least for now.

"Have you need of any coin?"

"Not at moment, what we pillaged from Lot's army allows us to arm many and more."

"Good" Still, she would split a part of Cenred's treasure for future use. "I believe we have need to be speak of a new taxes policy as well."

At that, Lady Cerys squared her shoulders, her aging chin proudly tilting above the pearls around her neck, while tiny wolf heads howled along her purple dress. "Yes, many lords and ladies have concerns about your new proposition, your majesty."

"And what are those?"

"You must understand, Cenred wasn't a man of many details. He offered much freedom in the way we were always allowed to set our own taxes on the people." The woman explained. "Many nobles will be unhappy with your demands."

"Demands?" That was a fine word. "I don't see it as a demand, Lady Cerys, but I understand many won't be happy for having to take less from the common people."

"You cut half of our income."

"I cut half of the income from the highest taxes on the land, which were Lord Belmont's. Funny enough, Cenred was paid less than he was due, but I guess the man wasn't fond of book keeping." She breathed in and out. "Let the lords know that the royal vault is satisfied with its current state, and the queen won't change her mind on this, however I'll allow them to make use of the royal army and our food storage for the next year which should easy their worries. The crown is also prepared to help the building of mills in their lands."

The food storage and the army were already obligations from any monarch, but having her clear promise on the matter was good, besides, the mills were the real deal here and Lady Cerys knew that. Essetir still got most of their flour from manual grinding, but if she could establish mills along the rivers, well, cheap bread would be very welcome. "Would you be able to meet such offer?"

"I wouldn't make the offer if that wasn't the case." Morgana smirked. "Do let them know I'll be sending sorcerers to their courts at any given time, we can't hope to integrate our people into the land if they have no one to guide them in their ways."

Lady Cerys paused for a long breath of time, and then she nodded. At that Nyely's old wrinkled hands came to rest atop the table, her brendui robes making her look like an ancient gray turtle. "Since you brought that up, it's a pleasure to inform the council that the druids have agreed to grow crops to help the castle storages, and our gardens have also begun to bear fruit."

"So magic really can grow crops even in winter." Lady Elaine seemed thrilled by the thought and Morgana remembered her lands had lost crops due to the lack of workers.

"It's not just magic, my lady. Druids have grown their own food for ages. Fruits, vegetables and grain, our magic can grow them faster, healthy and plenty even in the most undesirable conditions."

"Maybe I can use this to our advantage. Madoc has been quite abusive concerning the prices of his honey and cattle, negotiating with that man is a nightmare."

Lady Cerys frowned. "If the druids are completing our supplies, I do wonder what will be of our farmers."

"Worry not, Lady Cerys." Morgana interrupted. "Magic will be of use only in dire situations, such as the one we're in now. Unfortunately, not many kingdoms are willing to help us and not many merchants want to trade with sorcerers. There is only so much we can squeeze out of the smugglers."

"On that matter, have the druids agreed to a talk with the crown?" Ruadan asked from his seat. "In my experience, they would never show themselves."

That was indeed a problem. Since her crowning, Morgana was aware of many groups of druids moving into Essetir's territory, but beyond brief contacts with her soldiers and Nyely, they had made no move to be part of the kingdom. Judging by the brendui's face, the news wasn't good.

"They are hesitating, which is understandable, but also curious. No proper druid was part of the battle against Lot, and they have suffered much for a peaceful people, we should consider luck they are helping us at all."

"I shall meet with their leaders personally at some point. Is there anything else?" She looked over at them for a moment, waiting to see if they had anything that deserved her attention. When nothing happened, she got to her feet, feeling the crown tilting atop of her head. "In that case, I think we can end things here. My lord, my ladies."

Her sister followed and as soon as she was out of the door she felt Accolon and another guard taking place at her flanks, two shadows in what she judged was an unnecessary hassle as far as she was concerned, but Morgause insisted on it and the council agreed.

"Don't you think you should've told them about Camelot?"

"It wouldn't do to make them panic right now" It had been only a day since Agravaine's message arrived, warning her of impending problems. "After Oldoak we need some quiet around here and Ruadan is already doing the best he can to assemble a fighting force, there is really not much this news can bring to the table."

"Urgency. Many lords pace like slugs to follow command, maybe these people need to be scared to follow orders." Her sister looked to her and frowned. "There is also that other matter to deal with."

"I'll deal with it. Tomorrow I'll announce you will be in charge while I'm gone, and that is that. I'm thinking I might met with the druids on the way, try to form a proper alliance."

"Won't you need help in dealing with them?"

"Not at all." Morgana stopped short of entering her chambers. "If I go alone they might be more willing to listen."

Morgause studied her for a bit, moving a blond curl behind her ear. "Very well, but be weary."

"I'll."

When her sister was finally gone, she entered her chambers, immediately smiling at the sight on her table. She still staggered with how young he seemed, short and skinny he was a far cry from the young man she last saw, dead on a field a battle. This Mordred was alive, well and smiled widely when she came in.

"Morgana!"

"Hello, Mordred." She moved to leave her crown atop of her vanity, knowing Sefa would polish the metal later on. "How are you liking that one?"

The boy looked at the book on his lap, the cover was old and gray and wrinkled on the corners. "I didn't know some of these spells even existed."

"Well, there are many and more, as long as people were born with magic there have been those willing to explore it." She sat on the bed, running her fingers through the hair that was curling beyond his ears. Swallowing a wave of emotion, she allowed the moment to stretch itself out, so entranced by the notion that he fit in her arms so well, this small part of her heart. "I hope I can teach you a lot in the future days, if you're willing that is."

Mordred nodded. "Aglain taught me a lot of stuff, but he didn't get to do much else."

"His daughter, Pylah is one of our best fighters."

"I saw her, she was happy to see me." The boy leaned over her lap, and her heart broke a little, these little gestures were common since she met him again in the great hall, and remembering the weary man who was willing to stand against her in her past life, Morgana wondered what happened to him out there, what would've happened. "You said you were going away, why do you need to go away after we just met again?"

"Because I have to, it's a responsibility." She paused, moving to change the subject. "I hear your friend is already being called a tiny devil in the training yard."

"Kara."

"Kara." She had never learned the girl's name before. In the broken heap of a person she had become at the time, her only interest was in Mordred being at her side once more. Now, he sort of looked away. "What is it, Mordred?"

"If you go away, you might not come back."

"I can't ignore the summons."

"You don't understand!" Suddenly he jumped away from her, pacing around her chambers, his face breaking into a storm of desperation Morgana had only seem in a mirror. "I-I don't… Please… Don't leave me… You'll…"

He trailed off, unable to put his feeling into words, until she was latching on to him, grabbing his shoulders and rubbing his tears aside. "Mordred, it's all right…"

"It's not all right! Something always goes wrong… If you leave, something will go wrong, Kara will die…. I'm cursed…"

"You're not cursed Mordred!" She might have spoken too loudly, but Morgana didn't care. She had already pieced together that he and the girl had seen some horrible things, that her parents had died after saving Mordred. She had seen how they were both skin and bone the first time she saw them. Still, yelling wouldn't solve anything, so her next words were said carefully, clear and strongly, words she was learning on her own as she spent time with that crown on her head. "There might be evil out there, you hear me? But never think that it's your fault that others do evil things. It's not."_ What I did was never your fault._

"But…"

"I'm not going to die." She promised, an impossible oath, but one she wished to make all the same. "And you're safe here, you and Kara both. Nothing will ever happen to you again. Morgause is my sister, and I trust Ruadan and his daughter completely. If you look out of the window, you'll see men and women willing to raise their blades so that what happened to you never repeats itself, all right?"

In front of her, the boy nodded, closing his eyes and she gathered him in her arms, willing all his grief and fear away with her touch.

"You're safe, and you know what you do when you're safe, Mordred?"

"No…"

Morgana smiled, holding him tighter. "You live."

* * *

##################


	19. CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF PROMISE

**CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF PROMISE  
**

* * *

The snowflakes drifted inside from the hole, floating in the air quietly, coldly, and his eyes followed them, yarning for their touch in whispers that could be ended by the touch of a warm fist. The rubbish was piled in the middle of room, rubble and pieces of wood standing together amidst the scaffolding, where masters of masonry and woodworkers had been hard at their jobs until he sent them away.

Now, there was only the weight of the covers over his legs, the cloak over his shoulders, and the crown that fit snuggly atop of his head, the news that brought him here echoing in his ears even now, a touch of hope, the certainty that what he saw and heard could be destroyed just like those snowflakes. Just like he did every day since his youth.

"Sire, I must ask you to return to bed."

He raised his eyes to meet Gaius, his old friend and ally, a most valuable ally, one that had loyalty in his hopes as much as he had knowledge of the enemy. "Why?"

"Being exposed to this cold is not good for your wellbeing."

"I'm well Gaius, but lit a fire if you must."

His friend pursed his lips, but moved to do so, lighting the torches and braziers around the throne. Uther felt their warmth immediately, but Gaius didn't need to know that. In all these years, Gaius often was better not knowing things, his guilty was often exposed when doing just work, and Uther had learned to deal with it in his way.

"Lord Hector's actions were very fortunate to bring you back to us." Said the old man, and Uther waited, understanding there was more to come. "Indeed, it was a happy occasion, however, I'm afraid that as your physician I must recommend your return to bed and to your treatment."

"I'm well." Uther repeated, forcing the words through greeted teeth. "Lord Hector's actions were more than necessary Gaius, he was only telling me the truth."

"And what truth is that, my lord?"

Uther turned, fixating his gaze on the old man, just as the doors at the end banged open to let in his son. The boy had grown, he seemed taller, but the way he was running towards him made him look like an eager child.

"Father! You're off your bed!" He came short at the edge of the dais, seeming to remember himself before Gaius. The old man, sensing the mood, bowed to them and turned to leave, while Uther watched the changes in Arthur's face, the way his smile threatened to appear, only to be brushed aside a moment later, his steps hesitating between approaching him and standing still. When the doors closed, it was like a bubble had burst, allowing his son to come closer.

Uther allowed the hug, it felt good, a different warmth, one he might have felt long ago with Ygraine, but those days were gone and the world was too harsh a place to allow indulgence of this kind. "Father…"

"It is all right, my son." He mumbled, letting go. Arthur stepped back with eyes that were pooling with tears, a discouraging sight for what was to come. "Now stop that, these times will demand much of us, and you must steel yourself."

"What?" Arthur sniffled, mouthing the word, before repeating himself, the heaviness in his voice cleared away with a brush of his sleeve. Once the prince composed himself he looked around the throne room, seeming only now aware of it. "I would've expected you to be somewhere else father, this place is still being repaired."

"This throne is a symbol of power, my son, perhaps my presence in here will remind you of that."

"Father?"

"Lord Hector has informed me of the most grievous news regarding the state of this land." He picked the crumpled scroll from inside his tunic. "Sorcerers are roaming our lands, I've been told, magic is being practiced against the law on every corner of the kingdom."

His son shook his head. "We've been dealing with it father, w-we… we can't be everywhere at once, but I assure I'm doing my best." He paused. "Perhaps we should go somewhere else, enjoy your return to health? I'm sure we can have something made in the kitchens, your favourite…"

"King Bayard of Mercia writes to us." He interrupted, handing Arthur the scroll. "He says that an army of sorcerers has expelled Lot from Essetir and taken control of the land. Sorcerers, Arthur."

"T-this is a mistake, surely." Arthur said, reading the words and furrowing his brow.

"This army is said to be led by two sorceresses."

"Morgana."

"And Morgause." The king uttered, poison slipping from his tongue. "Do you understand the implications, Arthur?"

"This would explain why there are so many magic sightings in the land, why the druids are migrating."

Uther banged his fist impatiently, watching his son finally turn to him. "Morgana!"

A shadow passed by his son's eyes, vanishing in an instant. "Father, I understand that her betrayal…"

"It wasn't a betrayal! I was tempted to believe so, Arthur, but this is obviously not the case. It's all a machination by that whore, Morgause!"

"What?"

"She obviously has placed Morgana in an enchantment, she has obviously used her claws to tear her away from me and into her heretic ways! But I've seen the light, her tricks won't control me any longer! We shall bring her back!"

Arthur blinked, his confusion was clear through the haze that Uther felt was his vision. "Father, I know you want to believe that, but Morgana…"

"What?"

His son balked. "Morgana made her choices, I understand you don't want to see it, but she is a sorcerer, she chose magic, she…"

"Enough, I'll hear no more of it!" He motioned to the scroll still in his son's hands. "See to it that the council be ready by the morrow, I want us prepared for war immediately. The witch has struck against us, now she will see what her actions have wrought. I shall bring justice to her just as I have brought it to her kind!"

Arthur still didn't move, and Uther begun to grown impatient. It was like his son didn't understand the necessity right in front of him. He wasn't born when chaos ruled these lands, he wasn't there to understand that one had to attack, quick and swiftly, or else risk everything you ever had or loved being taken from you. He was still a boy, but he would learn, Uther would make sure of it.

"See to it, Prince Arthur."

"Yes, sire."

When the doors closed after his son's back, the king returned to his seat. The fires were diminishing, but he barely felt the cold or the silence, his eyes watched the snow drifting down into the chamber's floor, snow that so resembled ashes.

* * *

When he was a child, Arthur used to run into his father's arms without hesitation, eager, with the simple view of life that was granted to every child, until he was nothing but a bundle of giggles under that great man's eyes. As he grew though, something odd started to happen, something he didn't realize right away.

His time begun to grow busier. Men would come from all over the land, great minds that would teach him numbers, and letters and protocol. He would be taught of the New Religion, and its rituals, he rehearsed words and politics and he learned how to wage war, but his father's hugs were never there when he did something well, not as much as the ferule when he did something wrong. Still, he knew, always, without a doubt, that his father loved him and he loved his father with all his heart. Still, when his father broke from betrayal and defeat, Arthur felt a part of him breaking, and when the Prince Regent of Camelot returned from a mission to discover he was regent no more, the elation he felt was unlike anything else.

It had died very quickly, the moment he stood before Uther Pendragon and realized that holding his father was too much to ask.

Now, as he sat on the council, listening to latest reports, he could only idly ne aware of the discussion. His father sat at the head of the table, hunched over, his crown skewed, while Gaius and Lord Hector both flanked him, the later seeming happier than Arthur had ever seen him as he spoke of alliances and deals and promises. King Alined had already written demanding that Camelot answered the threat of magic, while the rest of the Five Kingdoms would surely follow and with the stroke of a quill, their armies were three times stronger and they didn't even know if Bayard would join the fight.

"We must also look to Amata." Lord Cygnus claimed. "They surely will want revenge for the death of their sovereign."

"A letter was already crafted and sent." His father explained. "Regardless of the answer, we will march."

"We need to be cautious." Arthur spoke up, daringly. "Perhaps sent a small score of our men to scout ahead, inform us of what is going on in Essetir. The knights of the Round Table would be more than ready for such mission."

Some heads nodded, Gaius included, and everyone looked at his father.

"They aren't knights." They were only words, but he might as well be feeling the sting in his hand, and there was no one to apply the salve.

As the talks of war moved to logistics, he could only sit there, enraptured in replaying a conversation in an abandoned chamber, her voice sounding as if she was in front of him again "_I'm tired of this rotting country, those blind knights and the filthy laws."_

By the time the meeting was done, Sir Leon had orders to start summons of men as soon as the snows begun to melt, and his uncle was the first to leave the chambers, Arthur lingered for a while, watching his father drinking from one of Gaius' potions, smacking his lips and grimacing, perhaps because of the taste.

"You have something to say?" Uther asked when they were alone and Arthur hesitated, the question changing as it left his lips.

"Perhaps we shouldn't take more men from the common folk, I already issued a command like that before, to call upon more would cause upheaval."

"And what use would the peace of a peasant be when the heretics drag him from his home for execution?"

That, Arthur found, he couldn't argue with. When superstition, heresy and evil took shape right over your borders, a king did his duty. "I still think you should allow my men to scout the territory."

"Your men, I've heard plenty about them."

"They helped me save Camelot and free you."

"The law is the law, Arthur, and a kingdom is only as strong as its rules." His father uttered, as if a prayer that would silence argument, but it failed to silence his thoughts as it always did.

_Was this really what you wanted, Morgana? _He asked no one. When she left him alone that night, he thought she would disappear, hoped she would be at peace, but instead her name returned with the promise of war and blood. He didn't think she would burn through the land like wildfire, forcing his hand into battle, but perhaps he was simply fooling himself.

She had, after all, helped an army take Camelot by storm, killing hundreds of innocent people. When she had the crown, she coldly executed peasant in the courtyard, shooting them with crossbows to force the hand of his knights and, beyond all that, he could only guess what other actions she might have taken against him and the kingdom. Perhaps he was blind as his father sounded when he spoke of rescuing Morgana, no doubt pushed forward by that ugly truth Arthur hadn't dared to ask about yet, or else risk knowing for sure the sins that might damn him.

It was his ugly secret after all, that he knew how she tasted, both her skin and the places between her legs. It was his shame that he knew the fierceness of her kiss and the comfort of their naked bodies under the furs. Swallowing a sudden urge to sob, Arthur forced his mind back to the present, cursing her name for it all.

He was so distracted he barely noticed Gaius until the man was standing in front of him. Startled, he barely had time to blink before the physician bowed respectfully. "Sire, I'm afraid I have something I must share with you in my chambers."

"What is it Gaius?" He asked wearily, brushing his gloved hands over his eyes. "This better be important."

"It's about the runemark, sire."

"The what?"

But Gaius simply looked at him, with those eyes that forced people to take him seriously even when he seemed to be speaking nonsense, and under all the troubles weighting him, Arthur found that one more wouldn't make a whole lot of difference.

When he entered Gaius' chambers he was still surprised to meet the number of people waiting for him. Merlin was there, pacing from one side to the other, while Gwen sat by the table, been handed a cup of something from Lancelot's hands.

"What are you all doing here?"

"Merlin told us this was important, and we're your friends." Gwen declared without hesitation, and when he looked to Lancelot the man grinned, but none of them had the soothing effect it could have.

"I've made an oath to see you safe, sire."

"Well, I'm not sure that is worth much since my father may see fit to revoke your titles, Sir Lancelot." He looked away, feeling ashamed that such news even had to be delivered, he didn't want to see what Lancelot thought of that. "My father has also seen fit to gather the army, we march when the spring comes."

They gasped, and he wondered if it was really all that surprising. The laws of Camelot and its safety were at stake.

"Arthur…"

"It's the right course of action." He cut through her saying. "We've seen what magic does, how destructive and corruptive it can be, to allow an army like that to exist, I don't even want to think about it. If my father hadn't done it, I would've taken measures myself. The knights of Camelot are what stands between a just and prosper land and chaos."

A heavy silence descended upon them, and Gwen was the one to break it, asking the question everyone wanted to ask. "What about Morgana? Arthur you're going to have to fight her."

He grimaced, walking around them to seat by the table, he could feel Gaius moving around the room but every other pair of eyes was on him. "My father believes that Morgana is under a spell, that she has been turned against her family."

"Do you really think that?" Merlin asked.

Arthur shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I think, I hope he is right, and we can bring her back, but I have my doubts."

"She and Morgause are smart and powerful, they will know we're coming."

Arthur nodded, leaning back, and releasing a sigh. "We will do our best Merlin, as always, Camelot's knights have prevailed against far worse odds. Back in the day my father was still able to rein in the chaos and I'm sure he can do it again. Now, Gaius, what is it you wanted to talk about?"

The old man dropped something at the table before Arthur could even think of waiting for an answer. It was a circle of clay with familiar patterns that he thought he wouldn't need to see again.

"This is a runemark, my lord."

"All right."

Gaius was still looking at him, and slowly, Arthur met his gaze, the old man's voice was heavy with intensity. "In times past, this mark aroused great fear. It was given to those found wanting by the court of the Disir."

"The Disir?" Asked Gwen.

"The highest court of the Old Religion. Three women were chosen at birth to be trained as seers and soothsayers. Their only task was to interpret the word of the Triple Goddess. When they sat in judgement, their word was final."

"Superstition." Arthur mumbled, weakly. "This Triple Goddess nonsense was only an excuse for bloodshed, this must be just sorcerers trying to make as afraid. I don't see why you think this is important."

"The Disir are quite real, my lord." Gaius said, pointing at the runemark. "This is the judgement of the gods against you."

He shook his head now, Gaius sounded too serious, it was too much. "This is nonsense…"

He looked around for support but everyone looked like he felt, even Lancelot seemed as if the sun had burned out all of the sudden as he looked between him and Merlin. Gaius kept talking,

"The Old Religion held that the runemark not only contained a man's guilt, but the path that the gods had chosen for him. That is why it is both a judgement and fate."

"I make my own path."

"Do you?" Gaius challenged, and Arthur almost could feel the strings pulling at him. "It is said that only the gods can alter a man's fate, and even then, only when he repents and appeases them."

"Gaius…"

"Morgana has turned against us." That was Merlin interrupting, leaning over the table. He was worried, Arthur saw right away, but Merlin was always worried, and what made him stop and listen was the pleading in his voice. "Arthur, I don't know what this means, but if Camelot is going to war, surely this doesn't help."

The logic was sound, and whatever it might mean, Arthur had seen plenty of things that made him wary in his short life, and the many times he thought his life would end had brought a lot of trust and respect for the people in the room. He looked to Merlin, the young man who had once taken poison for him, and asked, still looking him in the eye. "Gaius?"

"Merlin speaks the truth, whatever happens you don't want the Disir to be your enemy, Arthur."

He rose from his chair, something strange, familiar but ugly was squirming inside him, begging to be let out. "Why me?"

"What?"

"Why me? I'm not even the king, I don't make the decisions." He waved his hand outwards, feeling like hitting something. "My father was the one that went after their kind, so why isn't he been judged?"

He tried to seek some of the happiness that had washed over him when he run to meet his father upon his arrival, but there was only anger there. His worth was determined by the things he thought had been right, but apparently he was always wrong. In front of him, his peers were silent as he waited for an answer, something that made sense, because right then he felt nothing but the injustice of it all, how unfair it was to be blamed by things that were beyond his control. Weren't the sorcerers the ones killing his men out there? Weren't Morgana and Morgause who almost brought Camelot to ruin? If he was to believe his father he was a failure in even following Camelot's law.

"Why?" He asked further, feeling too much like a beggar, and that cut even deeper, his pride scattered in the wind.

"What use would it be to judge a man who wouldn't listen?"

Merlin, of course he would know what to say, he sometimes seemed to always know even when he himself didn't want to hear it. Rubbing his hand, Arthur plopped on the chair, his clothes felt tight and the room hot, but beyond the increasing headache, he managed to whisper the next words clearly.

"Where do I find them?"

* * *

The skies across the land were grey and dim, with clouds mustering shadows that were too flimsy to be noticed, unless you were aware of how a real day was supposed to look like.

Ahead of him, rode a column of knights, at least until Uther decrees they weren't so, but Merlin knew they would always be knights in the heart, noble and just as they were.

Arthur had only trusted few people to escort him towards the court of the Old Religion, people he knew wouldn't tell his father about it. Percival, Elyan, Gwaine and Lancelot, the knights of the round table, and he, Merlin, couldn't find it more appropriate. They rode through the snowy fields, and cutting winds, urgency was the air they breathed, for Arthur needed to see this through before the war, and Merlin agreed.

"It is said that the Disir divines using an ancient pool. In turn, the pool is fed by the sacred spring at Caerlanrigh. The source of the spring is a grove of yew trees in the White Mountains. The Grove of Brineved." Gaius words to Arthur had been instructions, but for Merlin they were warnings.

"I'm afraid we're about to see dark times ahead of us, my boy."

"Are the Disir really that dangerous?"

"Yes, much so, and considering what we know of Morgana's actions it wouldn't be beyond her to call upon the Old Religion for help. This war will see the threads of many fates coming together, it will define our future."

"What, isn't fate on my side?"

"Fate can be elusive, how many times have you stood between the bright future of the Once and Future King and the evil doings of misguided men? You must be careful Merlin, gods are not known to be forgiving and the Caerlanring is in the heart of the old ways' power, you must watch over Arthur."

Merlin had smirked. "Don't worry, I won't let him do anything stupid."

"Merlin…"

"All right, all right." Despite all their troubles he had smiled at his mentor. "But, you know I've kept him safe for years now, I think I can do it a few more times."

Or so he hoped, at least, in the end he had no choice but to trust his and Arthur's destiny, that somehow he would do everything in his powers and things would work out. Still, he watched Arthur carefully, struck by how down he seemed even when he was smirking and telling him to do stuff, like right now. He was cooking and Arthur was silent. Merlin would say he was sulking, but if that was the case he had been sulking for way too long. Merlin understood that Arthur was under pressure, that he didn't always agreed with his father, which was great, but still, sad.

"You want seconds?" He asked, but Arthur shook his head. "It's good for you, with the cold, you should eat well."

"I'm not hungry Merlin, see if anyone else wants it, or you eat it."

All right, now Merlin was certain Arthur wasn't feeling well, but then, what did he expected?

"I'll take it." Percival said before he could think of something else, taking the place from Merlin's hand and sitting down on his corner of tent.

"Will you share?" Asked Elyan."

"No, knight's rights."

"If I knew being a knight meant going out in the cold this much, I might have said no to accepting the title." Gwaine said, pulling down his scarf so he could rub his nose.

"Is not like we're gonna be knights for long." Elyan pointed out, they were all wearing thick furs and leather, with hats and heavy cloaks to keep warm.

"Yeah, lucky us, what about you Percival, eager to go back to your village?"

"I never wanted to be a knight, honestly, was just looking for revenge." Said the big man, eyeing Arthur. "Until I met you, of course, I found that there are more things worth fighting for."

"Yes, lots of things, the "sir" was really attractive to women."

Merlin laughed with the others, and Arthur as well. "I won't allow your loyalty to be forgotten, I hope you all know that."

"We know, Arthur, we know you're a good man." Lancelot assured.

"A good prince." Said Gwaine and Merlin felt proud to toast with them, clinking their mugs filled with heated wine.

From where he was, he could tell that Arthur was touched, and his smile was a little more real that they had been lately. Merlin was glad.

The tent flapped, the flames burned, and they all fell asleep, one by one, until the soothing quiet overcame Merlin, broken by timely arrival. At first, he thought he was hearing things, a flap of thunderous wings, the breath of a mountain, then the voice of an ancient beast calling for him. Slowly, he snuck away from them, carrying his weight carefully and tucking his hands inside his sleeves. The night was so cold he hesitated to speak, the air scratching at his throat annoyingly.

"I was looking for you, young warlock, I had hopes of reaching you in Camelot."

"Things got complicated." He told Kilgharrah, watching as the snow melted under the dragon's paws. Curious, he got closer, feeling the pleasure of the heat emanating from the being. "You're so warm."

The dragon chuckled. "Well, I am a creature of fire."

"Of course." His lips curled at the corners, but he knew the dragon hadn't reach him for a chat. "What do you want?"

"First, I would like to know what you and the young prince are doing in the White Mountains."

"The Disir sent a runemark to Arthur." He watched the dragon's face, seeking any form of reaction and got nothing. "You already knew."

"Rumors and whispers, Merlin. Yes, I'm aware of the Disir's judgement, I presume by your presence here that you wish to change it."

"Can I stop it?"

The dragon hummed. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"Fate can take many shapes, not all will bring the ruin of Camelot, but Arthur's actions in the coming days will surely be a sign of future times." The dragon waited, seeming weighting something within himself, his eyes closed as cocked his head to side, as if listening to some mute song of the world. "That said, I sense a great danger is on the way, the Witch has gathered a great force, and I've seen the boy, Mordred, at her side."

"Modred?" The name brought a chill to Merlin's spine, the boy's last words to him ringing in his mind like a bellow.

"Yes, their alliance has grown it seems, and it doesn't bode well for Camelot."

"Mordred and Morgana, they will… They will harm Arthur."

"It has been foretold, and I see the current events as a clear sign of the approaching storm." Kilgharrah said, not unkindly.

It was as if something invisible had suddenly punched him in the gut. He had been dreading the next day since he heard Morgause's voice, but now, with the Disir and this new information, Merlin felt the doors closing around him. All those warnings from Kilgharrah were converging, and Arthur didn't even had the chance to be king, properly. They would try to kill him, and he needed to do something.

"How do I stop it? There must be a way!"

"You already know the way Merlin, I've told you the way, but you insisted on ignoring me."

Trembling, Merlin pursed his lips. "Mordred was a boy, Morgana was a friend, I couldn't just…"

"The witch was already an enemy when you healed her."

"Everyone was suffering…" He argued, weakly and ashamed, feeling like a child.

"Suffering is what you would've prevented had you made the right choice."

Merlin sighed, rubbing at his eyes, he didn't feel like mentioning that he tried to kill Mordred once, that he feared his actions that day might've hardened the boy's heart against him and Camelot anyway, and then a part of him went back to wondering on what would have happened had he succeeded. What if he had let Morgana die when she was close to it? He didn't know, he would never know, all he knew was that he saw the pain her loss would bring and couldn't bear it. Now, with a war looming ever close, her might have to kill them anyway if he had the chance.

"She has an army on her side now."

"And you have your weapons, young warlock, you'll find a way."

"Someone might see me…"

"Yes." The dragon said. "That is still your choice though."

"What about you? Will you help?"

"I have no means to do so, for once you ordered me to show mercy, and not bring harm to Camelot, promises that I fulfil even now."

"What?"

The dragon raised his chin, amused. "If you wish for my help, Merlin, you must be aware of the limitations you imposed on me. The power of a Dragonlord doesn't allow for schemes and loopholes."

Merlin sniffled, catching some of the meaning behind those words. He felt it was better to change the subject. "You said once that I couldn't escape my destiny."

"Yes, and now, more than ever, you must accept that."

"So you're saying that this is it? That this is what I was born to do? To fight this war by Arthur's side?"

The dragon peered at him from above, his warmth had started to melt the snow around them and Merlin could feel his boots sinking on the mud, sweat gathering under his heavy clothing. "The future that Arthur will bring and his doom are separated only by you Merlin, is this battle is what you've been waiting for, then it is up to you to end the threat."

* * *

##################


	20. BRING IN SOME LIGHT

**BRING IN SOME LIGHT  
**

* * *

Although the druids were artful in using their gifts to live well and in harmony with the world, Morgana wasn't at all surprised to feel not an ounce of magic in the large structure around her.

It was nothing but a dome of wood and bone covered by tarpaulin. A hole on the ceiling let out the smoke. The ground was lined with furs and leather, and in the center, a fire pit, giving warmth. Sitting all on one side, the elders watched her. Sitting alone on the other side, Morgana eat an apple from the offered bowl. Guests eat first, that was the rule, but when the bowl was being passed around no one else seemed hungry.

"You are now our guest, Morgana Pendragon" Iseldir declared stoically. "Your visit has been waited anxiously by our people."

She wasn't sure if that was good. Despite the courtesies, the only one among them with a friendly look was Jidarr. The old woman was a far cry from the prisoner she saved in Amata. Her hair was oiled and short, her clothes clean and her smile much more bright in a blushing healthy face. The others, she didn't know. They were strangers in this life. Leaders of at least half a dozen druid communities currently settling in her lands.

"I thank you for having me." She answered smoothly, adjusting the hem of her heavy coat. "I have every hope that we can sow mutual benefits from this meeting."

"We will hear you out." Said an old bony woman from the back, her long nails pointing at her with a trembling hand. "But do not expect much."

Morgana nodded, she wasn't expecting this to be easy. "I understand. Your people have your ways, and I'm not looking to disrespect them. Essetir has always been a place for the druids to hide. Its forests are wide and deep, and your magic strong. However, as I have been made Queen it is not my wish that Essetir remains as unlawful as before."

A long haired man with a wrinkled face frowned at her. "Do you, by chance, think of having us be your vassals? Do you think to tax us?"

"Not at all, your contribution in food was welcome and there is no amount of thanks that will be enough." She brought a scroll out of her coat and passed it over the fire to Iseldir's hand. "This is my proposition to your people, signed by all members of my council and myself. As Queen of Essetir I give you the freedom to move over these lands at your will, to take shelter in its woods and cultivate your food as you see fit. I give you the right to bury your dead, and the right to wear your clothes, your symbols, to partake in your celebrations and rituals. I give you freedom to practice your laws and choose your leaders. I give you a place in my council and also my protection and that of my armies."

Morgana had thought very hard about what she could give the druids, so by the end she couldn't help feel strangely giddy until the long haired man huffed at her. "Honeyed words, and arrogant as well. You have no right to give that which you do not own, our freedom is ours, our ways are ours, this land, given to men by the gods it was, by magic itself. You have no more right to it than anyone else."

"And yet, we live in a world where putting those words to a scroll might mean your safety." Morgana countered, carefully measuring her words. "Need I remind you that all over the Five Kingdoms you burn your dead, because to bury them is to invite desecration? You're named criminals for being who you are, and even where the law is mute the stigma remains. As queen, I must give you what you have, or else you might risk conflict where it's unnecessary."

"But wasn't your sister's voice that promised a land of freedom?" The old crone questioned. "It seems to me we're only acquiring a master, and a leash."

"I'm only trying to help."

The crone made to answer bot stopped when Iseldir gently held up a hand. "Alec and Prima might sound harsh, but there is true in their words. It shouldn't be for anyone to grant or take freedom, and the help of kings and queens seldom comes without a price." Iseldir said, on his lap the scroll remained unopened. "What is it that you want, Queen of Essetir?"

The use of her titles might have been comforting at some point, not now, it sounded almost as a rebuke. "Ruling a kingdom is hard and so it is to be a part of it. I will ask for your wisdom. I will ask for your power and your knowledge. I will ask for your shields and your eyes, to defend and care for Essetir."

"An interesting request."

"An essential one."

"How many of our own will be tempted, though?" Alec, the long haired elder demanded to know. "You might not ask, but your actions are enough to tempt the youth. Your fighters, your sorcerers, your warriors are out there using of violence and death. How many of ours will be tempted by the sword even if she never says a word?"

"Many of ours have already left, Alec, when her sister called them." Jidarr interrupted finally, it was the first time she spoke. "Even if the High Priestess had not spoken, I doubt much was necessary to change their minds. We all know what happened to Aglain's people..."

"Her brother happened!"

Morgana winced, but Jidarr continued as if the woman hadn't spoken. "... and many others. Violence bleeds violence. Young druids have lived in hiding and fear for years now, can we blame a suffering heart if it seeks relief from injustice?"

"By shedding blood? Immaturity shouldn't justify what they do. Kings kill our kind, our kind fights the king and kills the people, the people kills us. The cycle of violence will only perpetuate itself if anger and vengeance are allowed to take root." Prima explained running a long nail along her arm, murmurs of agreement following her words. "Also, lest not forget the young are not the only ones abandoning our path. Ruadan is with this woman, and we all know how deeply he has fallen, all the while labeling himself with justice. This woman claims she wants to help, I say she wants war."

"War is inevitable." Morgana couldn't help but say.

"War is a disease." Iseldir challenged, softly this time. "As soon as it becomes a choice made, it will infect you with certainty. Suddenly, you're the only voice of reason against monsters only you can see."

Morgana swallowed, feeling light headed. The elder's words rung truth, and hit her way too close to home, but she wasn't the same anymore. Was she? Besides, Iseldir wasn't completely right. "You can't deny some monsters are very real and need to be fought."

"Your words betray your intentions." Alec shook his head. "Our seers have warned us about you."

"What?" Morgana barked the question, but the conversation was already moving on.

"We were safe and hidden." A new voice explained, a young bald woman. "Our people were safe and hidden, now, they rise with eagerness and foolishness, and our enemies come for us. Essetir is our shelter out of necessity, for the sleeping wolves are now stirring and digging and hunting. The only thing you did was lent us a future of more death and suffering."

"I only wish to keep you safe!"

"And yet your actions speak louder." Prima claimed. "Did you not strike at the heart of Camelot and shed innocent blood? Are the rumors of your actions in Amata false? Are you not provoking every kingdom in Albion to come for our kind, and for what but a meager crown?"

"That crown can keep you safe!"

"Please, let us calm down" Iseldir asked before someone could answer, his gaze meeting Morgana's with all the patience in the world. "We cannot abide to be part of a kingdom whose purpose lends itself to shedding blood. You're well intentioned, Queen Morgana, but the path you seek will bring death to this land, pain to our people, and it will pull us away from a better path."

"A better path? What is that, extinction?"

"We've survived Uther's folly, we can survive whatever is to come, if we keep to ourselves." Alec rebuked, nodding emphatically.

"For generations our ways have seen us through." Prima amended. "And so we must remain until the Golden Age of Albion finally comes."

"It will never come." She answered, feeling hopeless, desperate. "I know what you speak of, the Once and Future King, who will bring together the Old and the New ways. It won't happen, you're all fooling yourselves."

"It is a delicate path." Iseldir admitted. "But we must have faith, and act when necessary, to assist our champions when they need us. If you know of the prophecy then you know that magic itself wills it to be, for its form made flesh has been born for that sole purpose."

It was like a slap to the face, hearing that name amidst the argument. Numb, Morgana struggled to understand how she could brave those words, brave their faith - she saw now what it was - while a part, deep inside, roared at the audacity. It was unfair, their words were unfair, and although she dug her nails into her palms, her voice came out harsher than she intended.

"You cannot expect one person to save you all! That is a children's tale! There is no mighty hero who is just and brave and kind! Stop trying to make sense of your fear!" She said, and her voice was rising but she couldn't stop, she could only see Mordred's grave in her mind's eye. Frosty blue eyes sealing her death. Arthur's form, lying on the ground and waiting for the end.

"Mind your words, Queen!"

"Just because you have hidden yourselves for so long you're used to your shame; it doesn't mean the rest of us should do the same!"

Iseldir closed his eyes as if he was suddenly in pain. Many elders glared at her and Jidarr shook her head. The anger vanished from her bones all at once, pilling her with regret.

"We should decide!" One of them claimed.

As one the elders closed their eyes, Iseldir in resignation and Jidarr after shooting her a sympathetic look. As one, she could feel their minds touching before their shields expelled her perception. Feeling oddly alone in the tent, she finished her apple, and thought about Mordred back in Corbenic, so close and so distant. In her pocket, the runemark burned with incessant warning. Her own goddess seeing fit to judge her, because she was broken, and horrible and evil, and apparently every good intention she has, leads to disaster. It wasn't like she had never imagined been refused, but they were not just saying no to words on a scroll, they were rejecting everything she had done, and everything she stood for. They were rejecting her purpose. She might not be the Mad Witch, but her shadow still lingered it seemed. By the time they were done, she was already on her feet. "There is no need to say anything, I already know your answer."

When no one tried to stop her she knew that she was right.

Outside the cold was almost a relief and she eagerly breathed in the fresh air. It felt clean and peaceful, pure. At the distance, she could see Accolon waiting with the horses, and around her the druids were gone, huddling inside their shelters, leaving the world to move on. Chuckling bitterly, she wondered if they would still send food for her people after her accusations, but they were so fond of their goodness she doubted they would stop out of spite. When did she became the one to fumble diplomacy? That was always Arthur's doing, burping at dinner, picking the wrong forks and mentioning something stupid by accident. He was also the one doing the killing, before she followed suit.

"You should not blame them, child, they have lived in their own little world for far too long to be convinced by a conversation. Many have only heard of suffering, and I'm glad for it."

Morgana shook her head, weary and numb. "I don't blame them."

Jidarr hummed, eyeing her from head to toe. "I see your shadow is still there."

She snorted, feeling sick. "Can all the druids see it?"

"Perhaps, it is rather impolite to ask a druid about his or her abilities. To us, knowledge is freely given and, perhaps, asked, but never demanded or taken." Jidarr explained, resembling an old owl in the way she stood there. "Before you were more like a brittle storm, seeking satisfaction, now your aura is sharp, focused…"

"Well that is a relief."

"It's also heavy with burden, you seek change and healing too quickly."

Morgana could've laughed, but instead her voice turn into a mumble. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped back there."

Jidarr shrugged. "You weren't the only one, and your words held reason too. Oh, no, don't misunderstand me. I believe in the ways of my people. I've always done so, but there comes a time when inaction is nothing but permission for what is foul, and the elders are aware of that, however, they are also afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

On her side, the woman was still and serene, and for a moment Morgana wondered if she hadn't heard the question. "Months ago, our Seers suffered from an unusual condition. While it is natural for one or another to spent weeks without hearing any whispers from fate, this time not a single one of them, from any of the clans we kept in contact with, had a single glimpse of the future. I found myself blind as well."

Her bracelet seemed to be burning around her wrist, but Morgana didn't allow any of it to show in her face.

"Of course we received such news with dread, although seers are but one of our protections, they have saved us a number of times. Yes, I know what you're thinking, visions are never fully trustworthy or precise. Be that as it may, the fact that this happened as you took the throne didn't fail our notice. Determined to get to the bottom of the matter, we seers tried to seek an answer to our questions. The ritual was long and tiresome, my old bones complained all the way. It demanded power from all of us and yet some, but in the end it did grant us one small glimpse into the future."

Morgana sucked in a breath. Neither she or Morgause had dreams as of lately, but the druids were suddenly claiming to be granted a blessing from the Goddess? How? What sort of ritual was that? "What did you see?"

"Blood." Jidarr said gravely. "Blood and death. Druid blood and the death of magic."

Morgana shivered at the ominous warning. It was as if the ground had vanished, leaving her to fall. Maybe it was her. Maybe death didn't follow Mordred, but herself. Maybe the druids were right and her actions were doomed from the start. The Mad Witch. The sting in her eyes took her by surprise and she looked away from Jidarr in an attempt to hide.

"So are we doomed no matter what?"

"I didn't say that." Jidarr replied. "You ask what we're afraid of, child, I say we're afraid of change. We deluded ourselves for years, believing it would come swiftly and peacefully, but in my experience, change often comes with much suffering."

"And not always for the better." Morgana amended, clenching her fists together. What she wouldn't give so she had never changed, so she was still a small girl playing at swords against Arthur. "Maybe your vision is real, maybe you saw it right. Camelot is coming. Soon, with armies in greater numbers than anything I can conjure. They will come and they will seek our destruction."

The woman didn't seem fazed. "And were you naive to believe they wouldn't?"

"No…"

"Then, I'm sure you have a plan to deal with them."

Morgana pierced her with a glare. "Am I to fight every battle to the last of my breath so your ungrateful people can live their lives with their heads tucked between their knees? Even when you already saw it all ending?"

"Such is the burden of a noble heart."

"I don't have a noble heart." Brushing at her tears, Morgana reeled around, meeting Jidarr's gaze, and yet she balked when she found the woman holding the scroll up to her.

"Iseldir asked to give this to you, and he is sorry the negotiations didn't go as you expected."

Morgana shook her head, motioning for Accolon. "Keep it, it might might be of use to your people."

* * *

While Accolon was setting up camp, Morgana caught herself seeing to the horses, giving them water and food and tying them close for the night. While Accolon's destrier seemed glad to back away and be silent, her own mare was a gentle thing, that accepted her caress with fondness, or at least the look of it. "You don't have to worry about politics, right Dahut?"

The mare whined, licking at her palm gently, and Morgana smiled before going back to camp.

Sitting down, she allowed herself to be taking in by the moment, if only for a while. Accolon was busy at the moment, swirling whatever he had cooking over the fire, his young face settled in deep concentration, but also, there was gladness there and she couldn't help but feel jealous of the feeling. Not that long ago she saw food as a ways of nourishment rather than something to be enjoyed, but then again she hadn't enjoyed anything in a long while and cooking was never on her list of skills. Not, under Uther's roof, there was no need for that, but then again, even Gwen or Merlin had never seemed to enjoy the task. The bloodguard handled every part of the process with care, using every small satchel of spice he had taken from Corbenic's kitchens - of which the uses she barely understood - tasting it once in a while. It felt familiar. It was, in a way.

Suddenly, he wasn't Accolon anymore. The dark hair disappeared, giving place to a blonde disheveled mess, the dark leather became a soft red shirt, and instead of calming concentration, there was a string of curses when the pot turned over, sending the meal down on his feet.

_Don't laugh! _The young Arthur said in her memories, but she kept on anyway, because he was a prat, and she was having fun.

It was a good memory, and old, because good memories could only be old. She had told him that the way to impress girls was to be polite and maybe invite her to a picnic, and how surprised was she when he invited her for one. The fool. He hadn't even had the foresight to bring something to line the ground.

"My Queen?" She blinked, becoming aware of her chuckle all too quickly, but instead of erasing it, she allowed the smile to linger for a moment.

"Nothing, it was nothing."

He nodded, pouring some broth for her. Accolon was kind, but that wasn't simply courtesy, he genuinely seemed to be gentle in nature, despite his position as a warrior. Arthur was never gentle, he knew to be kind, but to be gentle seemed to bring him shame. Accolon was quiet. Arthur was loud and brash. In bed, the guard was inexperienced and there was some thrill when she taught him how to pleasure a woman, but even then his touch was delicate. Arthur had never been delicate, he had always felt consuming, as if he wanted to mark her forever. Despite wishing those thoughts away, she couldn't help it, even as they eat in silence. "We should be reaching the border with Camelot by morning. I was wondering what we should do."

Accolon just looked at her, Dahut huffed.

"I was thinking of a simple glamour, or maybe a transporting spell. It would take us both further into the land, but I would be drained. These spells are costly, I would have to sleep a few hours." Morgana thought out loud, her full stomach felt good. "A glamour it is, I suppose."

Accolon nodded, and she could see his flushed cheeks under the light. Asking him to bed had been such an easy decision, and she had warned him nothing would come of it. He was a Blood Guard, she trusted him, but now, she couldn't help but wonder at the wisdom of her choices. Thanks to her spells Accolon could sleep, but her own eyes refused to close. Above her the stars were glimmering, lights said to be the home of the gods. Bodies that watched and judged, but Morgana wondered if they ever felt. Were gods even aware of what it felt like? To live and not get any help? How did they judged people anyway? Her Goddess was her Goddess, but how had she displeased her? Was she wrong in her actions? Were the druids right, and she was bringing everyone down a path that was dark and awful? It had been a long time since she felt this numb to the world, but she could feel it now, stalking her, that sense of distance, as if she was watching her body from above. Without control or reins. Watching her hands raising, the Sarrum screaming, her prisoners working, Gwen crying… Arthur dying.

It was Dahut that brought her out of her daze, whining loudly to get her attention.

"I've fed you" Morgana pointed out, then Dahut suddenly stilled, her ears moving here and there, searching. "What is it?"

Morgana was on her feet in instants, peering into the darkness in search for any signs of danger. Now that she paid attention, she could understand a presence close by. With one last look at the camp and Dahut's now silent behavior, she stepped forward. Even if there was danger, like a wolf, her wards would keep them safe, so she wasn't worried. She did however felt a prickle at the back of her head that urged her on, waving a path through the dark trees and pale mounts of snow, until she finally sighted something under the moonlight and she couldn't believe her eyes.

Tall, lean, wonderful.

It was the horn that gave it away. But the rest wasn't exactly a horse. The hindquarters were larger, the legs longer and so was the neck. The mane glowed, untrimmed and those eyes, they reflected light like a rainbow. The body itself wasn't white, but almost blue, as if moon glow had painted it permanently under exposure and if that wasn't enough, the magic she felt swirling around the creature told her the unicorn was there and it was real.

In awe, she dared not to move, afraid she might scare the creature.

The closest she had ever gotten to a unicorn was seeing a horn, wrapped in velvet and delivered to Uther by Arthur's hands. The proud hunter showing off his conquest. Much later the horn would disappear never to be seen. Uther had blamed a sorcerer. Now, even more, Morgana wondered how Arthur could've done any harm to such being. In the back of her mind, she was aware of all the things a sorcerer could accomplish with hair, bone and blood, but watching the unicorn now, she couldn't bring herself to even think of harming… Him. It was magic talking. The Unicorn was speaking without any words, the sensation peculiar, almost like the way sorcerers would speak with their minds, but instead of words, there were feelings.

"You're beautiful." She said.

"If you take one more step, you might realize the creature is not only beautiful, but gentle as well."

The old man seemed to come out of thin air, and she almost blasted him with a stunning spell. Alas, he appeared so calm, the fear she would feel at being surprised didn't reach her completely. Perhaps it was the unicorn.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Anhora, Keeper of the Unicorns." He was covered from head to toe in grey robes and a cloak, in his hands he held a staff, and his face seemed almost eager as he nodded towards the unicorn. "Go on."

She still wasn't eager to turn her back to a possible enemy, but the unicorn was still there and waiting. When her hand was finally close enough, she felt fur under her gloved hands, startled with how rough and hard it felt. It was like touching thousands of tiny needles. "How peculiar."

"An unicorn's fur is strong like iron as a way of protecting them from predators. It can hurt a dragon's mouth even when it tries to take a bite."

She was only idly listening to the humor in his voice, because the unicorn had turned his head around, his tongue leaking the back of her hand and making her smile. "He likes me."

"He recognizes a possible friend, or perhaps he senses in you the touch of the one who resurrected him."

Now she was confused. "What do you mean?"

"The one you call brother, but think of as something else, once slayed this same unicorn, unleashing a curse upon his land. His path to redeem himself was arduous, and not without its hitches."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Arthur."

Anhora nodded, his own hand joining hers, running over the unicorn's fur. "He humbly buried what was taken, and begged forgiveness for his wrongs, which allowed the unicorn to be reborn."

Morgana was staggered. "He never told me that."

"Sometimes we can spend our whole lives not knowing the best parts of a person, Daughter of Avalon."

She frowned at the strange title. Backing up a step, she dropped her smile. "This wasn't an accident, was it? Why are you here telling me these things?"

Anhora seemed unbothered by her stance, either he didn't know her power, or he knew and didn't mind at all. She could bet with certainty that it was the latter option.

"Unicorns used to be everywhere once. They lived here beside the dragons, trolls, pixies and gnomes. Phoenixes used to fly by the skies and giants slept in their homes under the mountains. Children of magic, all of them and these lands used to be theirs."

"Used to."

"It is nature's secret promise that, eventually, everything comes to an end."

Morgana frowned. "Even the unicorns? Aren't you their keeper?"

"I am, yes. Their company is soothing. They prolong my life and their magic is mine to wield, but only in their name. It is both my blessing and my punishment to keep them safe through the passage of time, and it will be both a sorrow and an honor to see they go."

"That sounds awfully bleak."

"Only for the untrained eye." He smirked, and his eyes darting somewhere over her shoulder. "Ah, he is finally here, you should see to him, before he freezes over."

"Who…"

But in the blink of an eye he was gone and the unicorn was walking away and out of her sight. Sad to see him go, she still sought out the night, wondering whom was Anhora talking about, when she heard the crunching snow deep in the forest. A small form, holding the reins of a horse and looking around, seeming completely lost. A small form covered in furs. A small form that shouldn't be there.

Suddenly, she was angry. It wasn't the sort of anger she was familiar with, that of her thwarted plans, and murderous intentions, no, this anger was old. It was an anger born of things lost, born of the foolishness of a loved one. Morgana walked forward holding that anger close to heart, whispering the words to lift her protections and reaching for the boy. "What are you doing here?" She almost shouted the question and Mordred flinched at her tone. To him, it must seem like she came out of nowhere. "I told you to stay in Corbenic! What are you doing here?"

His frightened look lasted only for a moment, for a brief glance at her face had the boy lurching forward his arms encircling her in a hug. "Mordred!" She wanted answers, but still he just hugged her, and Morgana bit back at her lip. His horse was a few steps away, and clicking her tongue she made the animal follow back to camp where Accolon was on his feet, clearly worried. She ignored him, dropped Mordred close to the fire, and went back to raise her wards once more. When she got back, Accolon had given the boy some food, but Mordred didn't meet her eyes. He stared at his bowl, avoiding her gaze, indeed a child, and suddenly she felt bad for screaming. Reigning back, Morgana rested her head on her hands, trying to raise patience to ask without hurting him. She knew how it could hurt to have grown-ups screaming at you, even if she was livid at his actions.

"What are you doing here, Mordred?"

"I wanted to help." She looked at him, remembering their last conversation. A disobedient child, intent on keeping her safe, a grown man pleading that she found the love and compassion in her heart. She was equally proud and mad.

"You wanted to help?" He nodded. "You realize how dangerous it was? You could've hurt yourself, Mordred."

"I've been alone before, I know how to do it."

"That is not the point." Morgana bit down on her lip. "What if you had fallen from your horse? Or got caught in a storm? By the Goddess you could've gotten sick!"

She saw the shame on the way he looked away from her. "I was worried."

"I know" Morgana closed her eyes, wondering what her father would've done, but for some reason she could only think of Uther and the shame he made her feel all the time. "Mordred, please look at me."

He looked.

"I need you to understand something. There are people who worry about you, all right? I worry about you, your friend back in Corbenic, she worries too I bet. Did you give any thought to what she must be feeling after you disappeared?"

"I left a note." He answered, blushing as he put the bowl aside.

"You left a note." Morgana blinked, trying to remember an instance when she had bothered with a note. When she went to Ealdor to help, there wasn't much thought put into it. She had packed and left. If Uther sent men after her, all the better, she would make them fight by her side instead. Only later she found out that Gwen had made a cover story for her departure, leaving a carefully worded letter that claimed she was visiting her home state for the short time. She could be very clever, Gwen, and when they returned, the only one being scolded had been Arthur, because he was fool like that. And because he didn't have Gwen… Not back then.

The sweetness she felt for a moment suddenly turned bitter, and her mood soured as she looked down at her lap, but Mordred was still looking, and she needed him to understand things. "I know you can take care of yourself, Mordred." In her order life he had survived to be grown and wise, wiser than herself. "Don't you think I can take care of myself?"

"You can." He mumbled, and now Morgana smirked.

"What did I promise you when I was leaving?"

"That you won't die."

Getting up, she moved until she was sitting by his side, dropping one hand around his shoulder. "You have good intentions Mordred, but please, think before you act. Sometimes you just have to trust that the people around you know what they're doing and that you don't have to do something as dangerous as traveling alone in the middle of the winter."

"You're traveling in winter."

"Not alone." She pointed out, reaching out to lift his chin. "And wait for me to teach you before pointing out the hypocrisy of grown ups, would you?"

He laughed, and Morgana followed along. Even Accolon managed a smile, and by the time it ended, she felt her anger dissolving a bit. Cryptic words, and the rest of the world had no business bothering her that night.

* * *

"Did you meet the druids?" Mordred asked her next morning, and although she was rue to explain her failure, she went along anyway.

"I did, but they won't help us, not with what I asked."

"Why not?"

"Because I did many bad things." She explained, wondering if Mordred could even understand. Accolon clearly did, judging by the brief halt of his movements as he packed the horses. "And they are right to take care of themselves."

"But they shouldn't, I mean, they should help." He paused. "You always helped."

Her smile was sad as picked up some snow and threw it at the pan to melt it. "Not always."

Mordred paused. "Did we need them a lot?"

Cocking her head to the side, Morgana considered the question. Around them the sun was rising, instigating what would probably be a clear day, where the ice melted and glinted under the light. "Why is Camelot so dangerous, Mordred?"

The boy frowned, dark bangs falling over his eyes, his small hands fidgeting. "Because of the knights?"

"That is correct" She leaned forward, amused by the way he squared himself, like a student eager to learn. "Do you know how much a knight costs?"

"Gold?"

"Not just gold, they need to get paid, but they are not like mercenaries. You see, if I wanted I could give away a chest full of gold and have some five thousand soldiers fighting for me for a season. That would be fine and dandy, but what if we need an army to be ready at any given time? Besides, mercenaries are easily swayed by higher payment, so you can see the problem." Morgana left out the part where even if you didn't have gold, promises of loot could be equally effective. "Knights on the other hand are loyal and trained to fight, but they need resources. Armor, horses, weapons, food, housing, where do you think it all comes from?"

"The king gives to them."

"And where does the king get that stuff?"

She watched as the pieces of the puzzle slowly came together. "The people?"

"Exactly." Morgana saw the water boiling, and took it away from the flames so she could fill their water-skins. "You need at least one small village to sustain one knight, one knight that will do nothing but fight and follow orders. Camelot's power was built on their knights' shoulders, but the foundation of it all was Uther's wit when it came to his resources. Not only he sold safety and wealthy to the commoners for some considerable taxes, he was very good bullying other kingdoms when it came to trade."

That was one thing she could say about Uther, the man had always known how to get what he needed.

In front of her, Mordred was following along just as she threw snow over the fire. "So you need druids, to make knights?"

"In a sense yes. Currently, the big part of Essetir's armies is made of common people. Granted, I don't need them training everyday, all day, or being around all the time, but I do need them to be ready and willing. Right now I can't feed a permanent army, and what the lords have in that regard are too few and those few are not planting, sewing, building or cooking. See the problem? "

"Yes." Mordred said eagerly. "Then, if you could get help from the druids, they could grow lots of food, and you can train lots of soldiers."

"Exactly." She squatted so she could look him in the eye. "When you're taking care of a kingdom you need to always be careful, and make your plans. Consider the whole picture to make sure everyone is taken care of. Check once, then check again."

"My Queen, we're ready."

She nodded at Accolon, and looked back at Mordred, luckily, she didn't need to say the words, judging by his vanishing smile. "You're sending me away."

"It's for the best."

The boy pouted, glaring at nothing, his blue eyes so resembling Arthur at that moment. "You said it's dangerous to travel alone in the middle of winter."

"And that is why Accolon is taking you back, shush." She said before he could. "I know, I'm a hypocrite, but I'm also your queen, am I not?"

"You're sending me away."

"I'm commanding you to go back to Corbenic, to see to your studies so one day you can help keep our people safe." Morgana licked her lips, feeling a touch of destiny in that moment. This wasn't the horrible dread that came from Jidarr, or the confusion of her meeting with Anhora. This felt right, and good, and warm. "Can you do that for me, Sir Mordred?"

* * *

That same day she rode Dahut deep into Camelot's territory, but it would take two whole days to reach the White Mountains. By day she would ride her mare on an easy pace, stopping here and there for a meal and rest. At night she would ward her camp, look at the stars and feel small.

As she traveled, her mind couldn't stop going out into her past with every familiar sight. The creek the passed when a visit to Lord Cygnus was required, running full and dangerous. The pond where she secretly taught Arthur how to swim, now frozen. The forest alone evoked a nostalgia she wasn't ready to face, the present and the past mixing together in blurs of joy and sorrow.

As she eyed the markings of a stone she saw Gwen meeting her at night, completely under control, or perhaps unconscious on the ground with an arrow on her chest. If she looked, she might found the oak that leaned over a ditch where she left Merlin to die, and the road where she first plotted the death of Uther Pendragon. If she looked she might find someone else's life.

It happened on a whim, a foolish decision, but suddenly, she was standing over a hill that peered over the Darkling Woods, to where the Citadel rose from a pale sheet, so mighty and eternal.

This had been where they had their picnic once, two children playing at being grown ups. A laughing girl and a boy with trousers covered in broth. Two brave warriors exploring the woods for monsters and adventure. Two good children who knew pain but also knew happiness, and maybe in anywhere else they might have had a chance.

Keeping hold of Dahut, Morgana raised her hand. From the distance it seemed that closing her fist could bring the whole thing crumbling down. Wishes.

"Hey you!"

Fool. She told herself, hearing their steps coming closer.

"What are you doing here girl? Are you lost?"

They couldn't see her face under her hood. Still, she kept her back to them and shook her head. "I'm not lost, Sir Knight, I'm on my way to Denaria, just passing by."

"Denaria is a long way from here." He got in front of her and Morgana got a good look at the man. It was no one she recognized. He was middle aged perhaps, wearing chain mail and a thick winter cloak stiched with Camelot's golden dragon, on his head a hat protect his ears from the cold, casting a shadow over his eyes. "It's dangerous to travel alone in winter."

She felt like hitting her head on a wall. "So I've been told, but my father is sick, and I must return to see him."

The knight nodded, his companions - there were three - were circling her. "What is your name?"

"Sefa."

"Well, Sefa, I'm sorry for your father. Now, why don't you lower your hood and step away from the horse?"

The threat was made clear when he pulled his sword free, the others following along as she took a step back. When he made to grab her, Morgana jumped out of his grasp raising her was no need for spells. Her hands shot forward, her eyes glowed golden and all four of them were thrown off their feet. Done, Morgana quickly climbed on Dahut, looking down at the men. She could kill them, finish the job. The druids probably wouldn't approve. If she left now, however, they would probably live, and tell everyone about the sorceress in the woods. They would also hunt other sorcerers if she gave them the chance.

The break was clean and it would hurt, but their hands would be incapable of holding swords for a long time. When she found their mounts down the slope, she let them loose as well and if the Goddess was good the horses would never see Camelot again.

The rest of her journey was fairly uneventful.

Morgana considered visiting her father's grave, but she could smell a storm in the air. By the time she arrived at the lair of the Disir, there was a white drape over the land, and she had to bring her mare along into the grove. Keeping as far away from the entrance as possible, Morgana finally found a curb where she could make a fire away from the wind. Looking around, she half expected the Disir to be standing there, waiting for her, but the darkness felt empty and bleak, and even when she had strong flames burning in front of her, the cold seeped into her skin like a poison. Blinking, she whispered a quiet incantation, taking a step further inside. The tunnel ahead of her seemed to go as deep and the foundations of the land, worming its way like the crawl of a gigantic snake. Still nothing. Looking back at Dahut, who seemed content to stay put, Morgana took her first step into the shadows.

She walked for a while.

She walked for a long time.

She walked until her feet were sore and still nothing happened.

When she finally turned back around, she needed only a few steps to see light of her fire again, and then Dahut, still standing by its side. The Disir were obviously trying to frustrate her, or else playing her. She wasn't sure. The runemark was her judgement, but then why were they not judging her right away? She wondered about summoning her powers, but the idea alone felt stupid. The Disir were the word of the Goddess, so this whole situation must have a purpose. She would need patience.

She sat down, and thought.

She eat some pieces of bread, and thought.

Eventually she felt asleep, still waiting, and woke up to the earth trembling around her. As if she was feeling a snore in the throat of a giant, but there was a particular symphony of violence coming from beyond the curb, a broken sound that was followed by a cloud of dust as soon as the tremor ceased. _The entrance_, Morgana thought, lifting her skirts.

"Dammit! *cough cough* anyone there? Can anyone hear me?!" She stopped short, her heart skipping a beat as she heard his voice reaching that breaking she liked to tease him about, because even as he grew older it never really vanished. "Anyone out there! Merlin!? Merlin?! Dammit, this is all your fault!"

She heard a thud and grunt and could picture the fool kicking something out of anger, because he was a fool, and an prat and and idiot, and she should turn away and let him stumble in the dark. No, much better, she should just go ahead and kill him at once. It would save everyone a lot trouble. No more heir to Uther's regime. No more passive princes with bias against magic. No more cunning leader for Camelot's armies. No more stupid words from his stupid mouth_..._

"Merlin!"

...Like that one.

Letting out a deep, long, suffering sigh, Morgana slowly walked around the curb, summoning a flame in the palm of her hand and listening to his gasp of surprise at her appearance.

"Hello, Arthur."

* * *

##################


	21. TRIALS PART I

**REVIEWS:**

**hannahleanda: OH, thanks you so much. Yes I never wanted to look into the problem of war from one unique pointview. The handling of it is different to different people, and usually, that is so hard to show, I'm glad you liked. I would think Morgana is trying to act more mature than she actually feels, but it might wear her thin after a while. XD**

**Michele: Thanks so much! Yes, passivity can be annoying, but they have their reason to refuse. I always understood there was an uneasy sort of truce going on with the persecution and the druids, and I imagine it must be hard to leave that relative safety behind in exchange for declaring a side so openly. THey have other reasons too... It's fair to say things aren't as simple as Morgana or us would like it to be. At least I'm trying to make it so. XD**

**Guest: Any society is always more prone to change when it is guided by their youth, so it was interesting to explore that idea here. Thanks a lot and here is the next chapter. Hopefully you'll enjoy it.**

* * *

**TRIALS PART I.  
**

* * *

The storm seemed to cease just as soon as the cave collapsed and that, in itself, was enough to make one very suspicious.

Now, as Merlin pulled up a handful of rocks from the entrance and whipped the sweat from his forehead, he paused a bit. Panting under his warm clothing, he watched the world covered by a white sheet of fresh snow under a sudden blue sky. He watched and he mulled over the strangeness of it all, with Gaius' warnings ringing in his mind like a scolding. Overall though, he was much aware of the grunts and curses coming from his back, and the occasional roar when Percival dislodged a particularly large boulder and got it out of the way.

He couldn't help fidgeting in place, his breath smoking in front of his face as her turned to watch the progress. It was minimal, he couldn't help but notice. The cave was tight shut, whether it was magic or nature it didn't matter. What mattered was that he wasn't nearly as sore as he could be, and everyone was doing their job. Getting up, he snapped his back into place and joined Elyan by his side, trying to pick small stones in hopes of getting the bigger ones out. Gwaine and Percival were trying to open the cave from the top, while Lancelot was going around trying to find another entrance. He hadn't returned, but the Grove of Brineved wasn't so big it would take too long.

"Don't stop Merlin! We got get to Arthur!" Elyan said, calling him out.

Getting to work, Merlin allowed the effort to hurt a much a possible. If he closed his eyes, if he paused for too long, he would see it happening before his own eyes all over again. They had dismounted away from the cave itself, marching by a sacred territory that he could feel in his own bones. Seldom he had been so in sync with the magic around him, the last time had been in the Crystal Cave. No one believed him when he pointed that out of course, they marched on, swords at their hips and wariness in their eyes. Arthur was ahead, like always, one of the many thing that made Merlin's life as stressful as it could be. He had gone ahead, even after they all turned around to hear the scream coming from the forest. He had gone ahead as if he was deaf, and then… When Merlin realized that Arthur was still moving, it was already happening, a glimpse of blue panicked blue eyes was all he got before the cave collapsed.

His fault of course.

He should have paid attention. He should've known there would be tricks involved to keep him out. They would want Arthur alone and defenseless to do as they wished. Or what Morgana and Morgause wished, and that thought alone was enough to send him into a panic. He couldn't let them get to him, he couldn't allow Arthur to be hurt. He was alone in there, and alone the possibility of him doing something stupid increased tenfold. He needed to be there with him, to protect him, to….

"Merlin!" He snapped out of it, meeting Elyan's worried eyes. He had started to dig in a frenzy, disrupting the pile. Any wrong moves and their work would get even more difficult. Guilty, Merlin looked away.

"Sorry." He mumbled.

"Don't worry Merlin, Arthur will be fine, we all care for him you know?"

"I'm aware."

"Besides, he is the best fighter in the land, he knows how to take care of himself."

"Right…"

"We'll get to him." The knight concluded. "We have to."

_We can._ He thought silently. It would only take a moment, a few of his strongest spells would probably be enough to rip every stone and boulder from their path. A lurch of power and he would be in Arthur' presence again. Probably to be tried and executed, but if Arthur was fine it wouldn't really matter, would it? Blinking to his hands, Merlin run his gaze to the rest of the knights. He knew them, or at least he got to know them. He knew Percival hated magic, as it was Cenred's magical army that killed his family. He knew Elyan was particularly averse to it after both him and his sister suffered under its shadow. Gwaine was the only one he guessed could be convinced. He would probably be the one to defend him for long enough to save Arthur… Slowly, he got to his feet, considering that maybe it was finally time to shed the guide, to roll the die and be who he truly was.

"Lancelot!" At Gwaine's call, everyone turned to watch the arrival, Merlin been the first one running to meet him.

"Did you find another way in?" He asked, eagerly, but Lancelot's eyes told him all he needed to know.

"There's no other path, Arthur is stuck in there."

A chorus of curses sounded from the knights, and Merlin tasted iron when he bit his tongue by accident. He pulled back, ready to get back to work, when he felt Lancelot's hand around his arm.

"Merlin, wait."

"We don't have time"

"Can't you use it?" Merlin frowned, turning around to meet his friend's eyes. Lancelot was nothing but loyal, nothing but truthful, nothing but honourable.

"I will…"

"All right then." Lancelot brushed a hand over his hair, smirking. "I'll find a way to distract the others, and you do it. It's only way. And you better come up with a good explanation as well."

"Got it."

He watched the knight joining the others, and slowly felt his body relaxing. Oddly, it was relief that reached him.

His secret was safe, and Arthur would be as well very soon.

_I can do it._

* * *

Once upon a time she would come to his chambers much in the same way. She would open the door and stand there, in her robe and shift, a candle-holder in her hand and a smile that was both comforting and mischievous. Once upon a time, he would invite her in, and they would talk their way into the night, shedding their daily armour for something more intimate and real. Now, that memory was faded, thorn and weathered. Now, she came from the shadows of a cold and wet cave, wearing thick fur coat over glimmering chainmail, and the light came not from a candle but from her own hands. Now, instead of an invitation, he dragged his blade out of its sheath, holding it threateningly in front of him.

From her part there was no reaction. She stood there quietly, just staring, and the weight of her eyes was almost too much.

He had wondered for so long what would happen should he see her again and now whatever speech he might have rehearsed, whatever accusations he might have mulled in moments before bed, escaped him in exchange for gasping through the heavy stone lodged inside his chest.

"Morgana…"

Her name seemed to be enough of a permission for her. She stepped closer until she was standing inches away from his sword, a weapon he so often used to defend her, now aimed at the centre of her pale throat. Her eyes darted to his, briefly, like the sting of angry bee, and then to the collapsed entrance at his back.

"Is anyone else out there beyond your servant?"

"No." He lied, swallowing thickly. He could feel the weight of the stones breathing against his neck, blocking his exit, and his friends. Not even his voice seemed able to reach them, and quickly, he drew his own conclusions about it. "Did you do this?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Did you do this? Is this your idea of a trap?"

For an instant he could see all the pieces fitting together. Morgana sending some minion with a delivery for him, bringing him here with legends and tales that would entice Gaius' fears, and then, rid Camelot of its prince. If she had been capable of lying for months while scheming with Cenred and Morgause, then surely this wouldn't be beyond her. In answer to his angry question however, she chuckled, a sound that held no mirth or joy. "Oh, Arthur, although the idea has a certain appeal, this isn't my doing, no. I wasn't even aware of your presence until I heard your tantrum a moment ago."

"T-that wasn't a tantrum!" Arthur sputtered.

"It sure sounded like one."

"You would know." Her lips twitched.

"Growing up with you? Of course I would know."

It was such a simple answer, something that caught him off guard, and no doubt made him look stupid. He hated that, and he hated that she could do that. He also hated the idea that those smug green eyes could resemble those of better days. His guts sinking, Arthur's gaze followed the fire, dancing like velvet around her fingers when by all means it should be boiling and peeling the skin from her bones. The reminder was enough for him to raise his sword – which he absently lowered – and angrily pull the stupid clay trinket from his satchel.

"Are you telling me you weren't responsible for this?"

She caught it in the air, scrutinizing it with a frown that quickly changed into a strange expression. When she spoke again, her voice was flat. "I'll give it to you, this whole situation looks very convenient. This thing, the cave collapsing, the prince of Camelot stuck with me, defenseless and vulnerable…"

"I'm not vulnerable!"

"… ready to be struck down." She shook her head. "Don't worry though, apparently we're both about to be judged for our sins."

Her fingers snapped, moving in harmony and then, a second runemark appeared in her hands, both displaying an eerie golden glow that pulsed in sync. "What…" Before he could voice his confusion, a sudden shrill sound echoed through the cave, piercing his ears and forcing him to drop his weapon to block the torturous sound. He might have screamed, but he wasn't really sure, and then, just as it started it was gone. Shaking his head, Arthur hesitantly lowered his hands, staring at Morgana who seemed only mildly bothered by the ordeal. "W-what the hell was that?"

"Theatrics." She scoffed. "The runemarks interacted with each other like a beacon. The Disir summoned both of us here and they clearly want us together." Her lips pursed. "If they had any sense of humour I would say they are laughing right now."

"Together?" Still reeling from what he just saw, Arthur spoke through clenched teeth. "Why?"

"How would I know?"

"Aren't they supposed to be on your side or something?"

"The Disir take no sides. They serve the will of the Goddess, and I don't pretend to know how the mind of a god works." She narrowed her eyes. "I'm actually surprised you're here at all."

"And why is that?"

"I seem to remember you been prone to turn the old ways into nonsense and superstition. Someone must've talked you into this, your servant perhaps." He didn't answer, not in the slightest because he didn't want to admit how right she was. At his stubborn silence, Morgana shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't matter, we'll be stuck here until they get what they want."

Arthur frowned. "So there are no other exits?"

"Oh, there are, I could probably clear the entrance too, but I doubt they would allow it. This is the heart of their power after all, if anything we're both about to practice some humility."

Morgana pronounced the word as if it tasted badly. She walked away without waiting for a retort, disappearing around the curb and taking the light with her. Arthur watched her go half wishing he could plant his feet in the ground and stay behind, waiting until his men could clear the entrance. Instead, he blindly picked up his sword before following the glow of her magical fire. In the dark he tripped twice, and stumbled one last time before he finally came around to where she was, and although Morgana was looking down he caught her amusement clear in her face.

"Shut up." He said, feeling his cheeks horribly warm. Morgana didn't drop her smile. She was gathering a heavy knapsack over her shoulder, and bringing it to a pale four legged shadow, waiting for her. "Is that a horse?"

The huge pale body ruffled at his question. "Her name is Dahut, and I would think twice before insulting her."

"Why would I insult a horse?"

"Because you're insufferable."

Arthur scoffed. "Charming as ever, I see."

"I'm always charming." She argued, gently cooing the animal who seemed oddly calm in the cramped tunnel. Beyond her shoulder, Arthur peered into the darkness to find it disturbingly empty. "That is where we have to go."

"I didn't think this cave was so big."

"It isn't." She said, pausing. "Are you scared?"

The idea itself was laughable. If this Goddess was so powerful, he did wonder why she couldn't simply make everyone happy and dandy instead of dragging his arse all the way here. He would be dammed to be scared, when he came here with the sole purpose of demanding answers to their so called judgement. He certainly didn't remember any Goddess healing burned crops or melting the snow from his suffering people. "Obviously not, but I can pretend if it makes you feel better."

Morgana just nodded, her eyes holding a strange familiarity. As he followed her lead, walking deeper into the cave, Arthur wondered why he was surprised at all. It wasn't like she had suddenly turned into someone else, although it was easier to think so. It was however a mistake to imagine that she wasn't just tricking him again, that they were just Arthur and Morgana and not enemies. This conversation, it was a ruse, a safety net he was eager to jump into, but duty bound to ignore. He stepped over the uneven ground, pausing to let her through a place where the stalagmites grew into a tight passage with one man's width. She passed through, brought her horse along, and paused briefly to wait for him and Arthur realized with sudden clarity that they were both feeling the same. Rehearsing every action with care, as to not disturb the cracked clay of whatever this was.

They weren't friends anymore. He had to remember that. Morgana was a sorceress now, her power displayed for all to see, and walking by her side was painful and confusing. The glimpses he caught of the chainmail underneath the warm furs told him she was ready for a fight, but so far nothing indicated that fight was with him. She hurt him nonetheless. Late at night or during the day, as he roamed the citadel or the lands nearby, it was inevitable that he would feel her presence. Memories had been carved in every corner, groove or chamber through the years, starting by that cold day when he received her in Camelot for the first time, feeling tight and uncomfortable in his furs, while she moved nimbly and graciously out of her carriage. A sparring under the moonlight, a teasing during dinner or a kiss of clumsy inexperience, every bit of it was a wound, inflicted by the moment he saw her sitting on the Throne of Camelot, a crown on her head and his father at her feet.

Suddenly, Arthur had to purse his lips, holding his hands into fists in hopes to hold the angry tide inside of him. The more they walked, the more he felt her and the more it bothered him that she had done so much and didn't seem to care. It was all an illusion, a dream. He raised his sword at her, and she just kept acting like she was the Morgana he knew, but she wasn't, not really. Or maybe he had never known her at all. Maybe she never really cared.

"I heard that you're a queen now." Around him Arthur could feel the cave closing in. His chainmail felt suffocating and his hands, they felt sweaty and clammy. Her silence was such that for an instant he thought he had imagined himself asking the question, but then, finally, came her answer, mocking and nonchalant.

"Were you jealous?"

"I was surprised." The accusation seemed to go right over her head as their steps seemed to grow louder to his ears. "Did you really wanted a crown that much?" Morgana might've flinched, it was hard to tell; He changed his tone, making his voice softer. "Please, tell me you know none of this will end well."

"I don't know that, no one does."

"I do." He insisted.

She sighed. "We are not here to discuss politics, Arthur."

He shook his head, stepping in front of her. He saw by her clenched jaw that he was getting on her nerves, but he didn't care. This might be his only chance. "You gathered sorcerers and beat a member of a powerful family out of his own land, I think we should talk about it."

"We don't…"

"Yes we do!" He exclaimed, and when she tried pass he blocked her path again. "Morgana, please, this is serious. You've gathered an army of sorcerers! You have to know how dangerous that is! The Five Kingdoms…"

"The Five Kingdoms will rue the day they dare to challenge me." She said, green orbs dancing with fire. "You hear me, dear brother? When those sniveling kings meet you, tell them that! Tell them to come, I'll meet each and every one of them, and make sure they regret it!"

She stepped around him, hitting his shoulder, but Arthur barely paid attention. Through her answer one word rung more powerful than all the others. "D-don't call me that!" He stammered.

"What?"

"Brother, d-don't call me brother" Even saying the word was suddenly hard, like he was spitting venom and trying not to choke. In answer to his demand, Morgana looked down, rubbing her temples with a painful grimace while the mare eyed them with a peculiar sort of indifference.

"No, I suppose I shouldn't." She commiserated. "You were always slow to accept changes, things out of your control. You would rather ignore an unpleasant truth than the face it."

"That is not truth."

"We grew up together." She pointed out. "I know you."

"I wish I could say the same." Her eyes widened only slightly, but he saw it and was glad for the reaction nonetheless. "I always thought you were kind and compassionate, but everything I've seen and heard has shown me otherwise."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes I do." He rebuked. "Father was never the same after you… After what you did. I understand what he did was wrong, but he didn't deserve that." He looked to wall at his side, where the rough limestone shifted under the burning colours of her fire whenever a draft came along "I had to take over the kingdom and everyday there would be people in court, people who lost family and kin to Cenred's army, but that wasn't even the worse. The worse was when I heard about your actions. About how you gathered a crowd in the courtyard and had your men shoot at them. People who knew you for a Lady of the Court, who thought you would keep them safe, you shot them and let the corpses rotting on the cobblestone."

He forced the words out one after the other, glass tearing at his throat and stealing his breath. By the time he was done she had turned her back to him. Arthur sought something in her body language, a shift in her braided hair, but more and more he felt like fishing on a dried up lake. Trembling, he asked in a brittle voice. "You've got nothing to say?"

When she answered, her voiced sounded dead. "Last time we spoke you seemed adamant that I was corrupted."

"Well, maybe I was right." He regretted the moment he said it, but he couldn't stop talking. "Every sorcerer we ever met has only brought us trouble, but you, when I saw you in your chambers that night I thought you regretted what you did, I thought you were going to stop with this sorcery, and then…" He paused. "And then, suddenly, I'm hearing about how you painted the Sarrum's hall with his blood."

At her side, her free hand clenched into a fist, and he imagined her nails biting into the skin. "He deserved it"

_He deserved it._

The words sent cold blade cutting down his spine. In his mind he heard about the rumours all over again. How the Sarrum's screams could be heard for miles, how he was mutilated and torn apart piece by piece by the evil sorceress with eyes of a demon. In some tales, Morgana had gutted the man with claws, and in others she went so far as to devour his flesh in front of his people. Although these were ludicrous, the truth underneath was real enough and this woman he had watched crying over a sprained ankle had been responsible. Suddenly he was shivering, he couldn't look at her.

"He deserved it" She said again, quietly, when he made to walk past her. "I don't regret that, he deserved it."

"Morgana."

"He was a cruel and monstrous man."

"T-that is not the point."

"What is the point?" She demanded from out of his sight. "You started this conversation, dear brother, might as well finish it."

For Arthur, there had been moments before in his life when he felt powerless. This was one of them. He dreaded what she might have to say almost as much as what he secretly wanted to say. He dreaded the deep twirl of darkness, thick and heavy, that pooled into his heart almost as much as he dreaded facing her, and yet, the hitch in her voice, the tiny clue that she was as scared as he felt was enough.

"It was wrong. It was not honourable, it was not right, nothing of what you did was right, but we can fix this." He tried, feeling small. His eyes meet the flame in her hands, finding it a good excuse for the burning in his own eyes. "Maybe this isn't you, maybe you can stop. We were always told about magic. Father always told us. How it twists your soul, until your humanity is gone for good, and I'm so scared that it has done so with you, but maybe you can stop. Maybe there is time for you to stop and we can go back." Yes, that is want he wanted, Arthur realized, and then he was reaching out, eager to cross the wasteland between them, but when she escaped his touch, he knew for certain that he had failed.

"You fool." Morgana hissed, the hurt in her eyes glared at him as if it could burn his soul.

"Morgana…"

"You stupid, clueless, you fucking…." Her voice hitched into a sob, and Arthur moved to comfort her, but when his gloved hand pressed the fur on her shoulder and the chainmail underneath, she recoiled. The fire in her hand pulsed and jumped between them. "Get away from me!"

"Morgana…"

"Curse you! Curse you Arthur Pendragon, and curse your father!" Her eyes glowed golden and the fire got bigger, erupting in heat and light, illuminating the whole cave like a sunrise and Arthur had no choice but to step back, pressing against the side of the cave. "Your father is a monster! He is a liar and a tyrant with no right to judge anyone! And guess what? You are just as ignorant and arrogant! You're no better than him!"

He stopped retreating, his own anger set aflame. "Neither are you!"

Morgana scoffed. "So you admit it then!"

"That is not what I said! He is my father, he is a good king and he was a good guardian! He raised you and took care of you! He is not a tyrant!"

Her eyes were like ice now slowly melting under the heat and when she threw her head back, she laughed, a chilling cold sound. "See this? This is what I'm talking about! You blind yourself to what he is! Have you forgotten his deeds so easily? How his pride almost let Camelot starve? All the times he lured you in with kindness only to throw you into the dungeons the moment you disagreed with him? Have you forgotten how he was almost responsible for killing precious sweet Gwen and clumsy innocent Merlin?" She was grinning now, but it was twisted, wrong. "You think the purge was some mighty quest for good? It was not! It was your father burning people at stakes, innocent people, cutting them down and throwing babies into wells!" She was in a rant, each word a stab into his heart, and then, suddenly, her voice quieted into something sad. "You talk of magic as if it's a choice, so tell me Arthur, what choice does a baby have?"

"That is a lie" He said weakly. He had his sword, as if it could protect him from her words, but never a piece of steel felt so useless in his hands. As a child he might have run to his chambers now, or maybe hers. How ironic that now she was the one tearing him apart.

He expected her to continue at any moment now, her anger gaining force like wildfire. Instead the light diminished. It grew weaker and weaker, like a sick man slowly burning out. In front of him, Morgana seemed to shrink into herself, looking as small and defeated as he felt.

"I didn't come here to argue with you, I lost hope for it a long time ago."

The words were strangely hurtful. They reached some place deep inside him, and held it down with clawed hands. After a moment, she walked past him. After another moment, he felt the horse brushing his side with her snout, and then, numbly, he was following her.

Silence was their reign for the rest of the way.

* * *

The woman was pale, shaped from marble until every crease and facade seemed so real, Arthur almost expected her to blink under the glare of the sun. Her sculpted braided hair gave the impression one could run fingers through each strand. Her clothes were far from common as well, the shapes of leather and iron running up and down her body, to a skirt parted in the middle to free smooth legs that ended on a bare pair of feet.

Her weapons, however, drew his curiosity the most. The bow was made of ash, smooth and polished, while the sheath of arrows dangled loose from her shoulders. Knifes and daggers hanged from her pockets, and around the other shoulder, a rope would swing whenever the wind came by. Her other hand also held out an apple, bright red and fat, giving the impression it would explode sweet juices under the slight pressure of his teeth.

"This is unreal." Arthur noticed.

It was the first time he used his voice since he felt the heat of her fire on his face. They had walked in the dark he didn't know for how long, their strained company making the air thick and hard to breath, each step was heavy and laboured, an unending path that eventually ended. All at once, the cave seemed to vanish from their surroundings, landing they here on this oddly green meadow. Wherever he looked, Arthur saw tall beech trees, high and healthy, green grass and blooming flowers, as if he was suddenly in the high of spring which he knew to be impossible.

At the feet of the statue Morgana was busy brushing away the moss and vines, which although had not touched the woman, had clearly covered the pedestal upon which she rested. Underneath, the three moons of the Old Religion, waxing, full and waning, glared at Arthur like an enemy.

"What are we doing here?" He asked, tentatively navigating the cracked glass of their bond. Thankfully, Morgana seemed to be doing the same, with her short answers and emotionless voice.

"Hunting." She climbed to her feet, looking the statue in the eye and abruptly taking the bow and one arrow from the sheath. Strapping the weapon on her shoulders, she still avoided his eyes. "Wait here."

She walked a determined path towards the forest, clearly having a destination in mind. Frowning, Arthur looked back at her horse, who was idly feeding from the grass and ignoring everything else. Inwardly, he wondered if it was normal to feel this stupid, and concluded he didn't have to luxury to think on it. He couldn't risk letting her go. Besides, he spent his whole life making sure to not bow to her and he sure as hell wasn't starting now. Walking forward, he remembered his empty stomach and remembered his rations stayed behind with the other. He looked at the statue briefly, taking the apple from its hand and to his pouch. For later.

Morgana was a little ahead, but he was soon keeping up with her pace. If she was bothered by his presence, she said nothing, and so, Arthur threaded his path over roots and craggy surfaces, his eyes looking up but not recognizing anything from his surroundings. God, he hated magic.

She had told him she was hunting, but along the way he twice saw signs of a track, or animal droppings, signs that seemed to go right over head as she trudged on. He wondered if she was even paying attention, but for once, he refrained from making a biting observation. It felt like any word from him would set off more hurt and disappointment for both of them.

She was hurt. And it was his fault this time, although the memory made his head pound, and breathing grow short just because of her words. Her accusations. He had his own right to be mad at her. Hell, he had more right to be angry. Raising himself over a steep hill, Arthur stopped short, cursing at his hurting feet. Then his eyes snapped to his side.

He waited with a baited breath and after a while there it was again. He looked ahead, but Morgana had disappeared behind the hill and she clearly didn't give a damn about his presence. Well, screw it. Searching for the noise, Arthur followed a trail around the hill, moving forward to the east, from where the noise came from. It was a choir, muffled, but recognizable, human voices.

Sword in hand, Arthur moved behind a tall beech tree, hiding behind the cold moist bark and watching for tracks and signs of movement, but his eyes still found nothing. He crouched low, squatting behind a pair of bushes and meeting the sight of tiny, green yellowish flowers he immediately recognized.

It was like a drape was pulled away, and Arthur could finally see. Getting to his feet, he begun to truly see some of the place around him. While before it was all strange and foreign, now it looked as familiar as his bedchamber. These were the Darkling Woods. He was in the Darkling Woods, he was as sure of it as he was sure of the sky been blue.

He was just thinking if he could find Camelot from that point when he heard it. It was distant, but it was there, the barking of a pack. Hurrying along, he run to meet the sound, letting it grow louder and louder, finally joined by the wild and boisterous voices of men. When he identified Sir Leon crying out above all the others he almost screamed in relief, until he remembered this couldn't possibly be home. When he left it was winter, this was not winter. Besides, he was in some crazy magic cave of all places. All at once, his steps stopped and then, bounding from among the trees, the doe came jumping down, racing past him like he wasn't even there. Then came the dogs. They broke through in a killer frenzy, the mouths open in angry snarls.

Arthur didn't have to think. Finding himself on the other end of those sharp teeth, his panic brought him to a single conclusion.

He run, his two legs pushing him forward as he jumped over roots and bushes, the doe seeming a pale blur in front of his eyes as he tried not to wonder at the feel of a dog's bite around his leg. He huffed, his legs burning as the weight of his armour and heavy winter cloak begun to pull him down. Desperate, he released the clasp, letting the cloak go, then his furs. He thought he heard the dogs tearing it apart, but he might be mistaken.

When he thought he was losing steam, his breath growing haggard, he finally broke through a long steep hill, only to pause at the sight of the rising walls of dirty. The doe was as surprised as he felt, her skinny legs struggling to climb the slippery slope only to be pulled down by the loose soil. Cornered, they were both cornered.

"Stop the dogs!" He screamed at the forest, hoping some kennel master could hold back the hunting party he had clearly stumbled upon. "Stop the dogs! Dammit! Can anyone hear me?!"

But the barks continued and he had no choice but to raise sword, cursing under his breath and drumming heart.

When the dogs burst through the tree line, Arthur was ready for them. When they passed by him, he was befuddled. Growls turned into violent shrieks, then the barking grew louder and through his confusion Arthur recognized the forlorn cacophony of a prey being caught.

Hunting dogs were never trained to kill. No, they would be taught from birth to go after a prey, bite legs, hold and break them, but never kill. It wasn't something he was very fond of, with the exception of the obligatory hunt to entertain important guests, Arthur always preferred his activities to be personal. As he turned to watch the doe writhing in pain as she tried to climb on a wounded rear leg, he couldn't help but observe the activity and understand each and every action.

Then he heard the delighted laughter and felt his legs growing weak.

His father looked so young, it was haunting. There was no grey tinging his hair and the wrinkles were feel upon his face, although his scar looked much more clear as the sun bathed it. Around him, the knights were spreading around, crossbows and spears in hand while the kennels master came running along to pull the dogs back.

"Magnificent! And here I was starting to think we would lose the day." The king observed from atop his horse, his gloved hand coming down to slap a small shoulder at his side. "I was hoping we could catch a boar for your first kill, but this will have to do! Come son, go ahead, draw some blood."

The boy was so young and he looked terrified. His eyes were glued to the blood on the ground while the dogs were still biting and barking at the doe. The animal was wounded from a dozen spots now, the dogs' bloodthirsty and poor training making it hard for the kennel master – Arthur remembered him now, he remembered sacking the man as soon as he realized he could do it - to control them. Finally, Sir Leon, beardless and short haired, came up to help and the dogs were pulled back, barking all the time. Always barking.

"Arthur" He jumped and the boy did the same, looking up to his father. Suddenly, Arthur could see every thought in that young mind. He could feel how everything was loud, and confusing. He could remember the smell of blood in the air and feel the pressure burning down his eyes, pushing the tears all the way to the edge, and how that gut wrenching fear was only overwhelmed by his wish to make that great strong king proud.

Instead of asking to get back home the boy climbed down from his horse, and Arthur knew his legs felt mushy and useless, he knew his heart was hammering against his small chest as he pulled the crossbow from the saddle, and took aim with a trembling hand. The doe let out a high pitched sound, almost human, and then it repeated along in a mute cry for help. The boy winced. "F-father…" He whimpered, but the bark swallowed his words.

"Aim for the neck!"

The boy gulped. Arthur hadn't realized he was getting closer until he stood right in front of the boy, torn between comforting a ghost and closing his eyes to all of it. The doe was still writhing in agony, the men were grimacing, barks, the boy sniffled.

"F-father… Can we…"

"Do it Arthur!" The voice startled the boy and the bolt went loose. It hit the doe on the hindquarters. It wouldn't kill right away. It caused more pain. The boy jumped, his back colliding with the king who now loomed behind him. "Again."

"Sire." Sir Leon called, but the king held up a hand.

"Father…"

"Again!"

It took a while to load the crossbow, his hands were shaking too much. The dogs kept barking, the kennel master was screaming at them. Arthur closed his eyes. He didn't need to see. He remembered. He remembered dropping the bolt. He remembered his father's eyes burning at his back. He remembered the humiliation of feeling his cheeks wet when he finally managed to hit the neck, bringing the prize down.

When Arthur opened his eyes the boy was still staring, getting a clap to his back that Arthur couldn't remember feeling as the hunters finally came up to do their jobs, to cut the doe open and prepared for transport.

He was still staring at the boy's distant eyes when he felt the Darkling Woods blurring and disappearing from his surroundings. When his knees met the ground again, Arthur remembered being that boy, scared and afraid and wishing for home.

* * *

He heard the steps first of all, a crushing of leaves and twigs followed by silent contemplation. Then, the shifting ground when she sat down by his side. When he looked up, his vision blurred, she still refused to meet his eyes, but right then he didn't care.

"I told you to stay back." She told him weakly, as if even she recognized those were useless words about a poorly made warning. "Here…"

Her fingers were pale, her nails broken and dirty, but when he reached out and accepted her hand in his, it felt like the world finally made sense. The ground stopped shifting from under him, and the soft cold skin calmed his desperate heart. The world felt real again. The breeze, the sun and the ground under his knees. Real.

"What is this place?" He warily asked, basking in the sensations while holding her hand like a lifeline.

"This is the Hidden Temple for the Triple Goddess, and we're in the Chamber of the Maiden." Morgana explained, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. "Sometimes you can have visions around here, especially when you're unprepared."

Arthur gulped, inhaling through his nose to abate the tightness in his chest. "I-I saw myself in my first hunt, with father."

"I see."

"Have you…"

"I have yes." She said, making him frown. "I'm not telling you."

"Right."

Silently she squeezed his hand, an assurance that immediately grounded him. Understanding her actions now, he fully intertwined their fingers, wondering when was the last time he felt her warmth this close. Probably when he was still ignorant. What a sad thought.

"I hate magic." Arthur mumbled, regretting it when her hand pulled away, not unkindly. All at once the moment was gone and they were back to existing near one another, while Arthur cursed himself. Desperately, he searched for something to say, fearful of any lengthy pause in the conversation. "So that was…" He paused, clearing his throat. "So that was your Goddess back there?"

"Yes."

"Not much for modesty."

"You should see how the Horned God appears sometimes." She sent him a tantalizing smirk and Arthur forced himself to smile. Like a smith trying to hammer a vase back together and turning the pieces into sand.

He sighed, asking softly now. "What exactly are we doing here, Morgana?"

She fidgeted, he waited.

"To become a High Priestess of the old religion, a sorceress must come to the Disir to receive their blessing. This is one of three trials I must go through. When the cave led us here, I knew this is what they wanted from me, to see if I'm worthy."

"Are you sure?"

"It's not my first time." She answered cryptically.

"So you have to hunt something." She nodded. "Can't you just use your magic and have something dead at your feet?" He questioned, rising from the ground.

"I can use only what is given to me." She said. "The Maiden is a beacon of excitement and youth. She is resourceful and joyful, and ambitious. Her trial reflects that."

"I thought you hated hunting."

She shrugged. "Hunting isn't bad. When we do it to survive, when we are hungry or cold, or when we're threatened and in danger. In that case a hunter is many things, a provider and a protector among them."

"I see…" He remembered a doe in pain, and his mouth was suddenly dry. That hunt had been a disaster. "And these… visions?"

"They are a part of it."

"Part of it."

"Yes."

She was on her feet. At some point she had shed her coat, revealing the bright chainmail underneath tied to her waist by a simple leather belt. Her hair was thrown over her shoulder, and her eyes were staring at him almost apprehensively. He was wondering about it when it struck him what she meant by trials.

"High Priestess… It means you…"

"It means more magic, if that is what you're wondering." She interrupted, her body, her hands, the lift of her chin, she was ready for more fighting.

Arthur had never been eager to diffuse situations with Morgana, but he also wasn't completely at loss when it came to listening. He just hated the truth. The truth was ugly and cold and scarring. The truth made him feel everything he wanted to forget. The truth was a monster, a monster that he wasn't the only one to run from. He wondered if Morgana had that same problem.

"Where…" He hesitated. This wasn't an apology; he wasn't sure there would ever be one between them, but he had no wish to fight her. "Where are we going?"

* * *

The place Morgana was looking for turned out to be a small lake, born from a waterfall that descended from a tall wall of stone. It was a tranquil place, from which the fresh water was icy and good when it came down his throat.

Morgana was waiting for him behind the tree line, sitting cradled by the roots of a thick willow tree, her bow at ready, her eyes focused for whatever prey might find their untimely demise just for the bad luck of being thirsty at the wrong time. When he got there, she had an unwrapped bundle between them, filled with oatcakes.

"Eat." She said. Arthur eyed the food, remembering the apple in his pouch. It would be safer, no doubt. Slowly, he took one from the pile, running his eyes over the baked doe as if it might bite him. "It's not poisoned, if you're wondering."

He raised his eyebrow. "And how would I be able to tell?"

"If I wanted to, I would've killed you back in Camelot."

"Maybe you would want to do it without a fight."

Morgana snorted. "Trust me, Arthur, it wouldn't be much of a fight."

"I've fought sorcerers before." He felt the subject suddenly fall on them like a dead corpse, and quickly he sought something else to say. "I wasn't thinking it was poisoned, It's just that I don't like oats."

"I'm aware."

Morgana smirked, it was a tiny thing, but it lifted his spirits as he took a bite. They shared the oatcakes - which weren't all that bad - until the sun begun to move down towards the horizon, and the forest became painted in bright orange hues.

"How long have we been here?"

"It doesn't matter, in here the Disir control everything, even the time. It's most likely that for your servant the cave just collapsed right before his eyes."

"Magic."

"Magic"

Arthur fidgeted. Idly, he would look at her. She was still the same, more tired, colder, but the same. Her chin still had the same upwards tilt of her pride, her mouth would still show deep laugh lines if he managed to raise the right emotions from her, but under her eyes, he saw dark circles. On her shoulders, he saw a weight he didn't remember seeing, or perhaps, he had never looked for it.

"Father thinks you're under an enchantment." He said without thought. "He thinks Morgause has you under her control."

He expected her to shout again, but she didn't seem surprised. "Of course he would think that. Even now he would rather think I'm some mindless ghoul instead of a person capable of my own choices. It hurts less I suppose."

"It does." It hurt to think that everything that happened Morgana had done so freely and willingly, but if he had any hope of understanding, he needed to admit that first. Idly, he played with the grass at his side, plucking bits of it from the ground. "Can you tell me?"

"Tell you?"

"No more games, no more shouting, please. Just tell me." He pleaded like a boy apologizing for ripping her favourite dress, like a lad who crested too soon and forgot about her pleasure. Like a man who lost someone and didn't understand when. "I promise to listen."

In front of him Morgana rested her head back, leaning against the tree. Around them the cicadas were singing, an owl hooted from the branches above and the waterfall rushed down with a serenity worthy of envy. As the night of spring embraced them, he saw a decision in her eyes.

** _"Leoth" _ **

The fire sparkled from her fingers and jumped to float between their bodies, swirling into itself until it was a small sphere of light, twirling to some unheard song.

"Morgause is my sister." Morgana begun and Arthur drew a sharp breath at the name, remembering how the woman once tricked him into almost killing his father. Morgause was everything he despised about magic. "When she brought me to her home, she taught me many things. I never felt more like myself than when she was teaching me new spells."

"She gave you magic."

"It was always there." Her eyes were forlorn. "It started when I was young. I remember dreaming of my father's death before it happened. For a long time after that, I let myself believe it was just a trick of the mind. I was happy if it never happened again, until it came back. A dead dog on the street, bandits attacking, I would dream and these things would happen. And then, I started to see you as well, dying."

Her sleepless nights had always been such a cruel part of her life, to suddenly having her explaining it to him was surreal. Suddenly he had to look back, and again he felt his world shifting.

"I was seeing the future, truly. A seer, they call us, people blessed with the gift of premonition." She raised her knees, hugging them close. "It was the first sign of my magic rising from slumber. No one taught me. I didn't make a deal with the devil or sought out a book of spells. It was always there, it **is** always there, but without training and discipline it felt like I was holding a storm inside myself. A scare and suddenly there was a vase breaking, a startle and my drapes were on fire, and all it would take was one mistake for me to end up in a pyre."

His hands curled into fists, understanding dawning on him from a dozen instances with horrifying clarity. "What… Why…." His voice died away, without completing the question.

"I tried going to the druids, but that was a mistake." He winced. "From that moment I knew I had little choice. If I run, Uther would come for me, if I revealed myself I would be burned. Hiding in my shame and my fear was the only path I felt I could take. I was stuck, truly. Paralyzed."

"You could've told me."

"You have blood in your hands…" Her eyes flashed with anger and then they changed, looking at him with something like pity. "You were busy... I didn't trust you."

It was a simple truth, and he didn't have to think much to guess at her reasons. Arthur still felt the need to defend himself. "I would've helped you."

"You would've tried, in your own inept, clumsy way." She recognized. "When I was with Morgause, we would travel a lot." She took a deep breath. "This one time, we came to this village, it was peaceful there, serene, close to Camelot even. The populace caught a man using magic. He wasn't doing anything really, just happily using spells to wave baskets together so he could win some coin. They beat him, tied him up and lit the firewood. Can you imagine that, Arthur? A whole village, just like any other, turning into mindless beasts because a man was making baskets. He died in my arms; I couldn't save him. He died in my arms and I can remember the smell of his burned limbs." He thought she was going to cry at any moment, but her voice was steady. "After that I understood something. I couldn't wait, I couldn't hide and I couldn't live with myself if I did nothing. So I went to Morgause, and I told her we would do it, we would end Camelot's tyranny once and for all."

Arthur shuddered. "So when I rescued you, the bandits, your tears, all that time…"

"All that time I was working to see Camelot crumble." She sniffled, bringing up a hand to rub at her nose. "After that, everything fell out of control. I learned that Uther was my father and suddenly I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror. All that shame I felt for having magic returned tenfold, and suddenly I just wanted to burn everything down, to end everything that made me feel like that."

Finally, hesitantly, her eyes met his own. He wondered if she could hear his heartbeat, if she could see how hard it was for him to breath and to keep himself from crying, because in her eyes he could see it now. That regret he was looking for, and so much more, rage and hurt all twisted together until her tears were finally falling, unbidden. He wanted to go to her, but something held him back and kept him stuck to the floor, an observer to her suffering.

It was a sharp rustle of leaves that lifted the spell from them.

Like one, they were both on their feet, peering down towards the lake where an innocent doe was leaning down for a drink.

Morgana held up a trembling finger, asking for his silence, and Arthur looked from her to the doe. He blinked, cleaning tears on his gloves while she pulled the arrow to her ear, taking aim with teary eyes. The tears tracks were glimmering under the moon, a badge of her turmoil, and still she was quick to pull herself together for the task. Arthur Pendragon stared, watched as the animal lifted her head, peering into its sides, left and right, and he could almost hear his father's voice, encouraging, demanding.

_Aim for the neck!_

Arthur reached out and lowered Morgana's arm, staring at her confusion as he tried to find the right words, words to give her something, as small as it could be. "We're not…" He wasn't a boy anymore, and this wasn't the same hunt, but still, this was as hard as begging his father to go home. He remembered her words from before, explaining her trial to him, and the epiphany hit him like a slap to the face. "We're not hungry or cold or in danger."

Her eyes widened in recognition, and slowly she lowered the bow completely. "We still need to move on though."

For the first time in that day, Arthur felt a smug, cocky grin making way to his face. Watching her dumbfounded expression when he pulled the apple from his pouch was enough for him to feel like some pieces could still fit together. It was also fucking satisfying.

* * *

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	22. TRIALS PART II

**REVIEWS:**

**hannahleanda: Morgana deserves the world!**

**AndreKL: Those fools will be the death of one another... wait...**

**Michele:I think, in the least, we shoul've gotten more even after Morgana became the main antagonist. I mean, ho do you make her the villain and not have her interact with Arthur as a hero? Heroes and Villains should challenge one another, at the least in a basic sense of story telling... Anyway, I'm glad you liked it!**

**Any criticism and advice is appreciated! XD**

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**TRIALS PART II.  
**

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**WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THE SUGGESTION OF SELF HARM AND DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD LOSS, IN A BLOOD RITUAL. IF THAT IS TRIGERRING PLEASE, REFRAIN FROM READING, OR DO SO CAREFULLY.**

* * *

Gwen put the plate on the table, and gently took a step back.

His hand, meanwhile, is right at the edge, idly tapping on the wood. She counts them and gets to ten before summoning enough courage to speak.

"Sire, your supper, it's getting cold."

The fingers stop and the king finally seems to move from his still form. His brow is furrowed and grave, keeping deep shadows over his eyes, but despite that, he can still see her over his shoulder.

"Has Arthur not returned yet?"

Gwen cocks her head, the answer is old and well-rehearsed. It slips from her tongue like honey. "Not as yet, sire. Patrolling in winter can be difficult, and those sorcerers know well how to hide."

The hand on the table curls into a fist. "Yes, I'm aware of how slippery those pests can be." His head turns to the window where she can see the cold night beyond, the clear skies twinkling with stars while the moon becomes a grin towards the snow covered citadel. "We must be sure to purge the evil from our lands before striking at it beyond our borders."

"Yes sire." Gwen wonders if Uther is even aware of who she is. Deep down, she almost wishes for it, a drop of recognition to one day find its way into those pale blue eyes so he could understand that the woman he almost killed is now his personal servant. That the woman whose father he took, now sees to it that he eats, and drinks, and has his bed made. Another part of her wonders if he does remember and simply doesn't care. "Will that be all, your highness?"

He takes the edge of the plate and pulls it closer. It is a fine meal, better than many are having at this point of the season. Roasted pork meat, with fresh bread and a soup made with their last tomatoes. The smell alone made her want to go home to her own poor meal, but she has to wait as long as the king needed. It was just the way of things.

While Uther refuses to give her an answer, she darts her eyes outside. His question makes her think of Arthur out there, and Merlin and Lancelot and her brother. The people she felt were the centre of her world were all gallivanting on a quest to help Camelot in the war, or at least that was how she understood it. Whatever powers had threatened Arthur they had to be dealt with, but that didn't stop her from praying at night for their safe return. Praying as hard as her loneliness would allow so she could see Arthur once more, share some idle conversation with Merlin, be annoyed at her brother and maybe have more meals in Lancelot's company. It was her only wish, and God surely could grant her that much, after all that was taken from her.

Gwen was so distracted, she was surprised to hear the loud bite from the king, turning to see him taking a chunk of greasy meat into his mouth. He chewed loudly, swallowing it, and then downing the food with a gulp of wine which ebbed from the sides of his mouth in a bright scarlet line. "I've hunted sorcerers during winter sometimes." He said when he was done, then he took another bite. "It was a tough affair. The man had sworn to see my death, he had killed a dozen guards I think, and his magic, the things he did with it, unnatural, revolting."

Gwen gulped, trying to find a way to stop the dryness of her throat. "Did you catch him, sire?"

"Yes." The king answered, leaning back on his chair, he let the half eaten pork rest on the plate, and took the bread to dip into the soup. "It took us nearly three days. By the time the wretched was cornered, he was starving on his feet, but that is when they become even more dangerous. He lashed out. The power to kill in those eyes of gold. A wave of his hand and a man would fall dead on the ground. That is how you know they come from the devil, these people. No man should hold that much power."

"No sire, of course not."

Uther swallowed the piece of bread. "I had him burned on the village we found him. It made an example. That same month, three more were denounced in that same place." He finally looked at her now, his eyes like broken glass cutting at her armour, and suddenly, Gwen felt trouble to stand on her feet. "That is what is needed to fight evil, ruthlessness and determination."

"My lord" Gaius' voice never felt more welcome to Gwen than at that moment. The old physician came swiftly into the chambers, his robes billowing with each step as he stopped at her side. "I've brought the medicine for your old wound sire, and the other potions to help with your health."

"Gaius, yes, of course." The king motioned for him to come closer and Gaius did so. "I have need of my strength for the coming fights."

"Of course sire."

"You'll be by my side."

Gaius nodded, slowly. Sensing a lull in the conversation, Gwen wet her lips. "Will you need anything else, my lord?"

When he shook his head and made a shooing motion with his hand, Gwen never felt more relieved, not even when she managed to sneak out of Camelot when Morgana was Queen. She curtsied, and made to the door, listening to the conversation at her back.

"It feels like old times, right Gaius?"

"Certainly, my lord."

"You and I, making the world into a better place."

And Gwen closed the door, going home and trying not to look back.

_I can do this._

* * *

When the forest vanishes from their surroundings they both arrive into a new chamber, and this one has Morgana gulping as the memories flood her from the depths of fears and near death experiences. It's just like she remembers. Like the Maiden's temple, this one also has no doors, but unlike the Meadow of Spring the First Garden is distinguishably claustrophobic. It is round and small, with no more than twenty feet from one side to the other. The walls were built with heavy boulders of all sizes and shapes, climbing hundredths of feet towards the sky from where the moonlight could only hit them at the right angle. It was a horrible place, and even with the light she was carrying, it felt too much like the bottom of a pit for Morgana not to close her eyes, less she feels the walls closing in around her.

Distantly she can hear ugly voices. Distantly she hears the Sarrum and reminds herself that the man was dead. When her hand reaches out, feeling for a scaly warm body that isn't there, her heart launches itself into a wild frenzy, barely allowing her to hear the muffled voice calling her name.

"…gana! Morgana!" She opens her eyes, only to find the bright blue of Camelot's champion staring back at her, all concern and uncertainty. His eyes always looked like that, not even in his greatest moments she remembered Arthur being completely sure of something. Despite the masks, he would always be lost. "Morgana?" His heavy hand on her shoulder is suddenly enough to bring her back, wavering as the world shifted back into focus.

"I'm all right." She gasped, but he didn't let go.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"That didn't look like nothing, you seemed like you were about to throw up." Arthur frowned. "Did you have a vision or something?"

She felt the urge to laugh in his face, because she had no idea what would be worse. "No, it wasn't a vision." She saw him getting ready to press her with more questions and quickly cut him off. "I think we've shared enough for the day, don't you?"

Arthur was clearly not happy with her answer, but what did he expect? She had told him her little sob story - a whim brought up by his stupid puppy eyes - opening her scars again to exposed the raw flesh underneath, but that didn't mean she would be suddenly confessing everything about her life. It was probably his fault anyway, being here. She spent her days in Essetir conquering herself and a day with Arthur Pendragon suddenly had her on her toes. It was specially difficult at times when she felt each breath she spent close to Arthur haunted by dangerous urges. An old part of herself, a part she kept hidden, still whispered that it would be satisfying to see his head on a spike. It still insisted on sending her back to that forest, when she met Mordred's killer lying on the ground, tired and defeated, while in the present Arthur worries about her. It is enough to make a person go insane, and wouldn't that be tiresome?

When his hand is finally gone her shoulders sink in relief. In front of her Arthur exasperatedly run his fingers through his greasy blonde hair. He looked at her, opened his mouth and closed it again, motioning to the statue ahead. "Very well, what is the nature of this trial then?"

She moved beyond him, her boots crunching the brittle bare soil underneath as she came under the shadow of the face of her Goddess. The woman was very beautiful, a beauty that came with age. Her face didn't have the joyful grin of youth, but the serene smile of adulthood. Her body was bare, healthy and chubby, with stretch marks displayed clearly as she sat over her legs. Dark onyx hair crowned the top of her head and fell in cascading curls over her shoulders and breasts. In her callous hands she was holding a tray with a brazier and an old weathered knife while in front of her was a rusty old cauldron inlaid with silver shaped like runes older than the Temple itself.

"This is the Mother Goddess of the full moon."

A pause. "Why is she naked?"

Morgana felt a smile threatening to get out, and quietly put it away. "She is adulthood, responsibility, growth and maturity." She turned to him. "I don't know why she is naked."

"It must be a trend."

Morgana ignored him. "Her trial is about the price we pay for our ambitions and accomplishments."

"And that means…" Arthur prompted.

"In the old legends, the Mother used to tend to a special garden. She did so very carefully and wisely. Her hands would dig the earth and rip off the weeds, for they would always grow again. Her feet would walk over the moist soil, never stepping on her creations, for their beauty was precious and always unique whether they had pretty colours or a touch of poison, for everyone had their value." Wind whistled down from the opening, brushing her skin with a cold wistful kiss, whether from lips or steel, she couldn't tell. "Since she was ambitious she wanted to have everything in her garden. Every fruit, and flower and shrub. Every plant and tree there ever was and some that would never be. As a consequence, her garden had also a very special flower that could only be grown by a brave sacrifice. It was called the Grail." She motioned to the chamber. "To pass this trial I must grow that same flower in here."

Arthur looked at her dumbly for a long suffering second, before taking a look around at the poorly illuminated chamber. "You mean this place? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"This is barren soil; I doubt you can even dig deep enough to plant something." He said, kicking a block of dry earth aside. "You need water, seeds and some really good manure."

Morgana smirked, lighting the fire on the brazier with a snap of her fingers. He wasn't going to like this. "Actually, we have everything we need right here."

Arthur paused, his eyes darting to where Dahut was patiently watching them, her ears twitching as if to follow their conversation. "I don't think she can fertilize this place by herself."

"What?" Morgana balked, her mare whined.

"I'm just saying, I haven't seen her droppings yet, but even so..."

"Y-you swine! That is not what I'm talking about!" She looked away, gritting her teeth. "Obviously I'm going to be using magic!"

"Oh." He looked at everywhere but her, clearly still uncomfortable and Morgana felt her annoyance at him rearing its head.

"If you will be like that, just turn around and don't watch it."

"I didn't say anything"

"You didn't have to." She had always believed Arthur saw something ugly when he looked at who she was, but to actually hear him earlier, had been horrifying in a whole new way. She picked up the knife and bathed the blade in the flames.

"What are you doing?"

"Magic always has a price, it's the first lesson every sorcerer must learn." Slowly, she pulled back her sleeves, eyeing Dahut briefly before pushing the dark thought away. "A little heat, some stamina, your sanity. Some magic will give you doubt, while others will take a life." It's the first thing Morgause had ever taught her, that whatever she might want from her powers, she needed to understand that nothing would come without cost. "It's all about balance."

She turns to look at him to see concentration etched on his features which are covered by intense shadows. It must be surprising, getting all this new information, but she can't resist the temptation to lecture him, almost like a moth pulled to a flame. Still, a part of her wonders if he might use it to battle her kin one day. "You wouldn't be telling me that if it had nothing to do with this place."

Morgana nodded. "The Grail Flower demands powerful magic in its growing, luckily, I'm very aware of its price." She concluded, bringing the sharp sterilized blade over her forearm. Almost immediately she heard him gasping, his steps hurrying to her side.

"Morgana!"

"It's all right" She reassured him, still grimacing at the pain as she let the blood drip into the cauldron. "I could grow a garden with my magic until I passed out, but the Grail Flower only comes alive if given blood."

Arthur is clearly disturbed even as he hears her explanation. Slowly, she clenches her fist, allowing the flow to keep steady. "This is sick."

"It's a lesson."

"It's a stupid lesson then." He grits his teeth, coming up and ripping the knife from her hands as if he was afraid she might use it again. "Stop that, let me fix you."

"No."

"Morgana…." He breathed out, an edge of panic on his voice. "I'm not a physician..."

"I'm aware."

"If you lose too much blood I won't know how to save you!" His voice reached a whiny quality when he panicked. "How much are you going to bleed?"

"The Cauldron of Dyrnwch is meant to test my bravery."

Arthur watched her intensely as if he could peer through her thoughts if he glared long enough. "Are you in danger?"

Morgana could've laughed. She was told that sometimes a drop of blood was enough, but in other times a priestess would fall dead o the ground, her blood drained until she was only skin and bone and still, she would be considered a failure. She can feel the cold seeping into her fingers already. In moments, there would be sweat, her heartbeat would climb unceremoniously, and then nausea. She was glad for his silence at least.

With her mind becoming numb, she couldn't help but reminisce about the last time she had gone through these trials. It had been Morgause at her side back then, her wound impairing her movements, but not stopping the High Priestess from guiding her sister to her own power. She had sat down in the Meadow of Spring, telling her to go out and hunt something and Morgana had taken the bow, the arrows and set out for almost a week. She had walked until her feet became sore with blisters, her stomach painful with hunger and at that point the wolves had found her, a whole pack of them, grey, hungry and merciless. In a storm of fear and adrenaline she had brought down two of them before taking a bite to the leg, but by that point the trial was done. Morgause had healed her and she had stood before the Mother while been instructed on her task. It was a matter of skill and sacrifice. The grail flower needed very special conditions to bloom. As a priestess she had to give and be skillful enough to heal herself, to take her own magic and replace what was taken from her body. Hesitate and you die. The Cauldron of Dyrnwch drinks only from the brave. Stumble and you die. The Grail Flower blooms only when fed by the cauldron. Make a mistake and you die. She snapped back to the present when she felt her magic revolving in her insides, her eyes glowing golden as her healing skills tried their best to counter the bleeding, fighting her intentions to keep the wound close. The shock of these conflicts in her power was enough to tug her knees into a sharp gasping buckle.

"Stop it…" He grabbed for her hand, like she knew he would eventually try and she tossed him on his arse with a tilt of her head. The quick slip of concentration was punishment on her strength, but she wasn't an amateur, she was already a High Priestess, she could hold him down and pass the trial at the same time. "Morgana!" She couldn't make him shut up, though. "Morgana! Let me up! Let me help!"

_You can't help me, you stupid prat!_ She thought. This wasn't a hunt, there was no way to go through this with an act as simple as feeding a doe with an apple. That act had completely gone over her head – she hated that - but this, she was sure, had no easy solutions.

She felt him tugging at invisible restrains, and tilted her head back, dragging him until he was backed against the wall, his curses reaching new heights. The cost grew strong as she felt the cauldron feeding from her, drinking more and more until her body shivered all over, until she felt hollow and fragile.

"Morgana!" He grunted and roared. She had no choice. She would have to knock him out. The High Priestess felt the dwindling power at her core, pulled at its strings and threw it at Arthur. His body jolted at the edge of her perception, growing limp all of the sudden and bringing her morbid sense of satisfaction.

Now she was free to act. Just a little more, it had to be. A groan escaped her lips when a spike of ice coursed through her limbs. Her vision swirled and grew dark, and yet the cauldron didn't have enough. It would tell her when it was done. It should've been done. It wasn't. Panic touched her heart for a brief second, but in her muddled mind she barely had any embers to be stoked. Everything was faint, growing so distant, muffled by a veil of water and fog. It wouldn't be so bad, probably. It wouldn't. She had lost conscience many times before. She had died many times before. Sometimes she had even wished for it. In a hovel in the woods, or kneeling by the side of dying king, she would greet the darkness in peace, willingly, as long as she could rest.

In her state she didn't hear the movement or the knife been thrown on the ground, she only noticed something was different when she felt the warm body at her side.

Fresh blood poured into the cauldron from a new source, cutting her connection to its hunger, the crimson pouring from his arm in fat dark droplets. _How?_

"Arthur…?"

"J-just, just let me help…"

Through the veil and the water and the earth burying her body the whimpers reached her senses, small and loud like the splitting of the earth.

He was a boy with disheveled hair hunched over on the bed. It was a familiar sight, and it was always the left hand he cradled, never the right. He needed the right to practice, to hold the sword and parry the blows of his masters. As always, his sobs were muffled little things, sounds he failed to contain altogether. Still, when a knock came from out of nowhere, he recovered enough to shout in a steady voice.

"Go away!"

The steps came closer nonetheless.

The girl was perhaps a few inches taller, with a young face and long dark hair, walking with grace and pride even in the privacy of the chambers. She clutched a small bag in her hands, and as she came around the bed, brought it to her lap as she sat down by the boy's side. She waited in silence for bit, breathing calmly under the dim light of a lonely candle. When the boy raised his head, he glared though tearful eyes.

"I said go away."

"I heard you." The girl retorted, reaching out for his cradled hand which he refused to allow. "I brought a salve, it will make you feel better."

"Where did you get it?"

"I stole from the knights' supplies, I use it after we practice." The boy sniffled.

"Father said I must leave it."

"Why?" He didn't answer "So you can be more of a man?" The question had bite, and the boy winced at her tone. The girl noticed the reaction and immediately regretted her actions. Sighing, she gathered all the training of her short life at court for her next words. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

The boy turned around, still hiding his face. "I messed the numbers…"

She nodded, because he always had a hard time with numbers. "Even so, the master was wrong to use the ferule, and your father was wrong to let him. They are both idiots. You know that right?" No answer, the boy just kept his head on the pillow. Slowly, the girl touched his arm, gently. "Arthur… Let me help you."

"LET ME HELP YOU!" He roared in the present, shattering the memory. Before his anger, she couldn't summon power and unable to contain the raw instinct from taking over, Morgana stepped back like a frightened animal, feeling the pain subsiding as her powers begun the process of healing her body.

As she fell back, fighting to keep her weak form upright, her head begun to clear, the sight of Arthur Pendragon gaining focus. There he stood, before the Cauldron of Dyrnwch, and the statue of the Mother Goddess. There he stood, the fool, beyond every stupid nonsense, there he was, noble and loyal to a fault, even for a betrayer, a killer, a witch, like herself. There he stood, bleeding from his arm and from a head wound. As her bracelet burned with magical power and Morgana recovered some of her wits, she idly wondered if he had a concussion and then she realized it would be her fault if he did.

Looking up, she saw Arthur was still pouring his blood into the cauldron, and slowly, she saw the old iron assuming a deep scarlet hue. Slowly she saw the shivers passing through his body and slowly she saw his knees buckling like those of a new-born calf. Words were stuck inside her throat and she couldn't set them free. Then, when she felt a need to interfere, the silver faces also acquired a deep crimson glow. It seemed that Arthur could tell it was enough, just like she did in another life. He stumbled back and fell on his arse, huffing and still bleeding. At the doors of death. Yes, he would die, her mind concluded. Years of knowledge told her in instants that the wound would bleed nonstop until the eternal sleep claimed his soul to the Other Side. She needed only to step back and do nothing. She needed only to watch over him. Then, in a storm of movement, he turned on his side, vomiting the contents of his stomach while Morgana felt herself blinking away from stupor.

Trying to wrestle back some control, she crawled her way towards his hunched form, bringing his bleeding arm under her scrutiny while he moaned. Not so tall and mighty now. The idiot had teared at his skin in a clear rush to easy her burden. She needed only to watch over him. Her magic eased into the wound at her command, a job much more complicate than a clean cut would have demanded. "Y-you're a fool."

"G-glad I… Glad I could help." Arthur's grin might have looked pretty and convincing if it wasn't the sweaty pale mess that was his face and the line of bile running down his chin. Wrinkling her nose, she summoned enough strength to slap the back of his head. "Ouch!... W-what was that for?"

"For being an idiot." She said, gulping. "I wasn't in any danger."

"Well, it didn't look like it" He seemed to be speaking through a mouthful of mud. Snapping her fingers, Morgana summoned Dahut closer, not even bothering to get up from the ground as she reached for her bag. She threw him her water skin and a piece of bread.

"Eat up, your body needs sustenance after what you did."

"Y-you could be more…. Appreciative…"

"And you could've died."

"So could you…" He drunk the water, panting after each gulp, when his eyes met her, she had no idea why, but she couldn't stand his gaze. "I've lost you way too many times already."

* * *

Morgana was sitting down, her back against the wall, munching on a piece of old tasteless bread. She felt utterly uncomfortable in her current position, hyper-aware of her state of needing a bath and a good night of sleep, but also of the presence sitting two feet to her side. Really, her feet were sore and hot inside her boots, her body felt itchy and clammy, and Arthur was, as he had always been, rather inconvenient. This close she could feel his warmth, his scent, and even his breathing each time he took a bite. Maddening.

The fire of the brazier had died some time ago and she had made another ball of light to keep them company. Above them, where the chamber opened to the sky, she saw the grey clouds moving through like curtains been pulled back to show the shimmering stars, an effect that was as revealing as Arthur's words. To her left, in shadows, Dahut seemed to have fallen asleep some time ago, and she was completely devoid of distractions, so, inevitably, her eyes would dart to him. For his part, he kept staring at his healed arm as if he couldn't quite believe it was still there. She felt almost like a maiden, watching and hoping not to get caught, studying the way his face was parted by light and darkness, how it pronounced the lines of his chin and his lips.

"This is uncanny." He remarked to her surprise and startled, she darted her eyes ahead, scared that he might catch her stare.

"What is that?"

"You healed the wound as if it was nothing." Arthur noticed. "I mean, I always knew there were poultices and cures, I just never felt it." She waited, he was clearly trying to get somewhere. "If only more sorcerers did these things instead of fighting."

He looked at her from under bangs of dark blonde hair and Morgana noticed he needed a haircut as thought of a question in return. "Why don't you?"

"What?"

"Why don't you drop that sword, run to your dear old Physician's chambers and beg him to teach you healing?" She asked, nonchalantly. "You could save a lot of people, and there would probably be songs about your deeds and your kindness. They would call you Arthur of the Healing Hands, and you would roam the lands, bandages in your bag, and your stupid servant carrying your tools."

He glared. "I'm serious."

"So am I" She looked down at the small piece of bread in her hands, felt the cold of the living grave reaching her even here, in this sacred place and swallowed it whole, savouring the mouthful. "You could've learned how to heal, but your father beat you into a sword since you were a kid. Other sorcerers could've learned a healing spell or two, but…" She stopped, not bothering to beat a dead horse.

Arthur understood, closing his expression and looking away from her, flexing his arm here and there and, sometimes, looking at her ball of light as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. "Will it always be like this?"

"Like what?"

"I say something, and you say how stupid I am."

"Wasn't it always so?"

Arthur huffed. "You make it really hard to care about you sometimes."

Morgana grimaced, his little outburst lingering over them both, stronger than any magic. It remained there, unconcealed and unrecognized, as dangerous and harmful as a secret and Morgana knew how dangerous secrets could be, how easily they became a cage of one's own making. "Do you mind backing away a little?"

"What?"

"Your scent is choking the life out of me."

He frowned, looking at her with a challenge in his eyes, and Morgana felt the comfort of their shield setting into place. Yes, this is what they did whenever things became uncomfortable. "Oh, so my stink can kill you, but bleeding to death can't?"

"I cannot be killed by mortal weapons." She said, watching his eyes widening a little as he tried to figure out if she was bluffing. "Your smell though, not even the giants of old would stand it."

He smugly hit his own chest. "This is how a man is supposed to smell Morgana."

"Like shit?"

"Sweat, steel and leather."

"A pile of shit in the armoury."

"Maybe you're smelling something else." He pursed his lips and hovered over her. Weirded out, Morgana leaned back shifting away from his intruding nose. They were not enemies, at least not here and now, and yet, she felt more than a little uncomfortable with his proximity as he sniffed the air over her. "Ah, there is it, it's your stink Morgana, and it is clearly affecting your wits. You should probably take care of that."

"What did you say?"

"You heard me, your smelliness."

"Fuck off."

He tsked. "So unladylike."

"Are you aware of what your mouth speaks, or do your poor wits have no idea?"

He laughed, the idiot laughed. "There it is… Anyway, I seem to remember you liking my scent well enough…" but his voice dies and so does his smile. He turned away, cheeks blushing and Morgana felt the urge to spit some curses in the air. Clearly there was no avoiding the issue so she might as well poke the beast.

"What are you trying to do here Arthur?"

The future king rubbed his nose. "Your friends called me here."

"I told you, they are not my friends" A pause. "And that is not what I meant." She guessed that he knew what she was asking, he was just being stubborn about it. She understood that well enough. Her life wasn't pretty; it wasn't a tragic song of beautiful tragedy. It was just a shitload of hurt, for herself and others. "You said you couldn't lose me again."

"I can't"

"You say that, and yet we just spent some nice little time screaming at one another. You have a beautiful list of all my crimes and deeds with you. Maybe you don't want to lose me, but we both know there is no going back." Her chest felt heavy, strung. "We can spend our lives here, revealing every ugly deed and forgiving even the most grievous offense, and still, there would be no going back."

"I know that..." He mumbled. "Besides, you're a queen now."

Morgana frowned, pulling a loose thread from her coat. "You know I'm not doing this just for a crown." For some reason, she wanted to know. It felt important to know, even if she didn't care a bit about his opinion, even if he repeated what he said before. "Arthur?"

"No…" He managed to say and she saw the shame clear in his eyes. If there was something to say about Arthur Pendragon is that once you learned to read him, you would always know what he thinks. It was a quality of his, the fact that no matter what, he would be sincere even if he tried to hide it.

Morgana bit her lower lip. "You do think I'm wrong though."

"Of course I do! You're starting a war, I…" He paused. "I've always… I mean…" He scowled, clearly unhappy with his lack of words. "Did I… we, lose you? Is that what you're saying?"

"I'm saying there is no going back."

Arthur swallowed, and it felt like he did so from leagues away. Her hands stilled by her side and his seemed to do the same. His blue eyes were dark as they stared at the light, blinking into it for a stretched moment. "That is pretty." Her laugh was dry and short. "It looks familiar, almost…" He hesitated "I never believed…" Arthur shook his head, struggling for words. "I was never so sure about the evil of magic as father was."

"No…" She considered him, wondering if this was an attempt to bring her in. "You never were, otherwise you wouldn't have tried so hard to help Guinevere and your servant when they needed. You wouldn't have helped save Mordred. You wouldn't have healed the unicorn." She closed her eyes, feeling the assurance of saying those things out loud. The dark wolves backed away, at least for now. It was a wonder how easily the mind could trick itself. When she was so easily taken by her pain and the cold dark tentacles of her hatred, she had lied awake at night picturing Emrys by his side, whispering about her poisoning and in her worst, most terrible nights she would see Arthur agreeing with him. Now, after spending time with him, the foolishness of these thoughts was rather refreshing, as doomed as his ideas might be. "You know there are things that are wrong with Camelot." She pressed, almost hopeful. "You've always known."

Arthur still looked down, but she could feel his hurt now in the way he was holding himself together. "Those things were right."

"Those things are the reason you would be a good king." He laughed, confusing her. "What?"

"You…" He said as if it explained. "Telling me what to do."

Morgana looked away, suddenly deflating. He was right, it was funny. They were not young anymore, they weren't children and she wasn't the pure hearted ward trying to mould a prince into a worthy king. Or a friend trying to help another. "I have no right." She recognized.

"You don't." He agreed.

In front of them, she saw a beam of moonlight touching the statue of the Mother. Immediately, the glow reached the whole chamber, blinding both of them into a serene dozing light. Runes began to appear on the walls, pulsing with power and the blood begun to drip from the caldron, down and down into the grounf, forming vein like rivulets that fertilized the barren soil.

By her side she could feel Arthur shifting uncomfortably as he got to his feet. His hand grabbing for the sword and, unconsciously, she held him back, grabbing his wrist. "Wait."

"What is happening?"

"Dahut is not scared" He eyed the waking mare, and Morgana allowed herself to step between him and the cauldron. She raised her hand. Although tired, she would have enough power for this. **"Beo leofaaþ, weox."**

It was like a breath of fresh air when the magic spread around them, a beating heart of warmth and comfort. It started slow. First, a sprout here, and another there. Then tendrils of thin green moss and grass would follow, and vines and small plants and shrubs would pop out and grow in a moment's notice. She saw flowers blooming into bright rich colours, lilies and lavender, with grains like wheat and oats and even tree trunks were growing through the walls of stone as if they were connected to it. Sweet scents invaded her nose, like the rich bounty of a summer harvest. Then, finally, a single vine slithered its way into the Mother's tray, a solitary bud of deep red sprouted from the tip, and then, it blood, opening in a dozen of blade like petals glimmering as if covered in blood.

It wasn't at all like the garden she first raised that lonely stay, long ago. This one was magnificent in comparison, with so many plants and life she felt stronger just from standing there. On the side, Dahut whined, her snout sniffing each and every corner of the new environment.

Stepping forward, Morgana run her fingers over the petal, feeling a tingle of lightning from the connection, a touch of something different.

"I've never seen a flower like that."

"You wouldn't, only a true High Priestess would have the power and the courage to summon it." She eyed him curiously. "Touch it."

"What?"

"You gave your blood too; I suppose it's all right."

He frowned. "And what happens if it's not all right?"

"The petals will cut you, and you will die." She met his gaze with a shrug. "It's how it goes. To anyone else this flower is poison. Now go on, touch it."

"I'm not sure…"

"Are you a coward? I knew Dahut had more courage." The way he flushed with sudden anger almost had her laughing. After all these years, he was still easy. How didn't she mange to kill him all those times was anyone's guess, except she had a good guess on that. "Go on, are you chicken?"

"Depends, will you imitate one?"

"So obnoxious."

"So annoying."

He did touch the flower eventually and Morgana had the curious delight of seeing his jolted surprise. Then, with more determination, he run the pad of his fingers over the flower, his mouth opening in a silent gasp as he experimented the raw magic on his skin. "What…"

"It's the magic, what you're feeling, it's the magic used to make the garden."

"Your magic?"

"Ours" She corrected, somberly.

* * *

##################


	23. TRIALS PART III

**REVIEWS:**

**Michele: THank you! XD**

* * *

**TRIALS PART III.  
**

* * *

"Are you all right?" Gwaine's tone was gentle, caring and was followed by his typical dazzling smile that could almost make a person believe everything would be all right. The effect however was lost in the presence of his tired looking eyes.

"I'm fine."

"Well, I hope you're hungry at least, Lancelot is calling us to eat something." The knight put his hands on his waist, pursing his lips to the general direction of the sealed cave. "He wants to discuss the situation, although I don't see what is there to discuss. The food though, has the right idea there, I think."

"I know" It was Lancelot's idea of a distraction. "He asked me to go find some firewood, just in case, I'll be back in a second."

"All right" The knight frowned. "Don't stray too far or we'll miss you, my friend." Gwaine tapped his shoulder sympathetically, it was a gentle touch that was better than Arthur's shoulder punches. Those were just stupid. "We will get him back Merlin, five minutes for lunch then back to work, we will have him out before the sun sets."

Except Arthur might not have until sunset.

When Gwaine retreated to where the knights were all together, Merlin turned around to feign doing his task, disappearing amidst the rocks and trees, before doubling back and tracing a path away from the camp. He knew already of a spell, something that had been tested and proved before, so when he came before the cave there was no hesitation. The young warlock raised his hand and chanted.

**"Ic ábíetee þæt stánhol!"** Gold rushed into his eyes as his magic stirred, making gravel shake and tremble, but the entrance remained closed. **"Ic ábíetee þæt stánhol!"**

He repeated the spell again and again, and still, the entrance didn't move. Roaring in frustration Merlin rubbed his head, pacing back and forth and staring at the obstacle. This had to work. Arthur was in there and counting on him. He was probably in danger. In his mind, he imagined all the times the prince had been in trouble, again and again his life had been on the edge of a knife, and always he had been there to pull him to safety. Despite everything, he would always save Arthur, it was his destiny and his choice as well.

Closing his eyes, Merlin concentrated, begging whatever special powers inhabited his body, wishing for them to awaken out of despair and a wish to preserve a future that was good and bright and hopeful. He concentrated on Arthur, seeing him in that future, sitting on the throne of Camelot and himself able to walk in the light without secrets and fear… A dream… Merlin opened his eyes…

**"Ic ábíetee þæt stánhol!"**

The magic inside him spread its wings, taking flight in a burst that hit the entrance of the cave with the power of a giant's fist. It crushed the stone everywhere in a howl of thunder and a cloud of smoke so thick, Merlin quickly closed his mouth and nose, coughing when he inhaled some of it. Tripping away, he desperately found a spot to hide behind, looking back to the cave being completely open as the knights raced down through the path in alarm.

"What the hell happened?" Elyan asked.

"The cave is open!" Percival pointed out.

"I can see that! But how?"

"I don't know, but it's open, that it what matters" Lancelot said discreetly checking their surroundings.

Merlin decided it was the right time to show up. Using a spell to clean himself from the dust, he darted behind a boulder and raced to the back of the group, widening his eyes in what he hoped to be an appropriate amount of surprise. "What happened?"

"The cave is open" Said Percival.

"Lucky is on our side, it seems" Gwaine laughed, slapping Merlin's back with a peculiar glint to his eyes.

"All right men, let us not dispense with our good fortune!" Lancelot shouted, freeing his sword. "Our prince is in there, let's get to him."

They lit their torches and run into the cave as a group, Merlin being pushed back for his safety. In their hurry they tripped their way inside, dodging spiral shaped stones, jumping up and down an uneven ground, but at least the path was only one, ahead and always, horse whines reaching his ears which none of them had time to question.

"I see something!" Percival exclaimed.

"There is light!" Lancelot agreed, pushing on as an arch opened before the group. Like a well-trained unit, they spread in the newly revealed chamber to form a line of steel and mortal talent, their gasps reaching Merlin's ears and readying him for danger.

Immediately he sought out blonde hair and Camelot red and found it leaning against the wall, clearly needing support to stand up, blood marring his mail and the side of his face while his sword was red and pointed towards something else. That something was a woman, clutching her guts while a pale horse reared and hit its hooves by her side. Morgana saw them coming, gritted her teeth like a raging haunting.

Merlin swallowed his fear, for him, for his friends and for Arthur, and then he readied himself for a fight.

* * *

The sight unfurled before Arthur's eyes in a vastness of immensities and emptiness.

The beach spread from one horizon to another in an endless line of grey sand, lifeless like death and bathed by mashing waves of waters black like ink. He stepped on the soft soil, sinking his boots further as the howling winds came at him like the breath of a beast, cutting and freezing, forcing him to wrap himself on his cloak as his breath turned into smoke. Beyond the waters he saw only mist, clouds of white pale glimmer that covered his vision, a wall as high as the skies and wide as the earth and, before that sight, Arthur Pendragon faltered. Never, the young prince felt this small. Never he felt so insignificant.

"Are you all right?" He couldn't exactly speak at the moment, so he shook his head, instinctively tightening the cloak around him. "Just breath, it will pass."

"Of course…" He said, panting… "You know everything…" Morgana had her gaze stuck to the mists beyond, idly closing her coat around herself.

"This place was not meant for mortals; it rejects the living. You should feel privileged to be here at all."

"Yes, I'm feeling it."

"You're still weak from giving your blood earlier, don't push yourself."

"You don't seem tired."

"I heal faster." The shadow of her pursed lips followed her all the way down the slope, where she came to a halt in front of the next statue in their path.

This one was of another woman of course, hunched over and covered by a black robe that, to his surprise, waved around the grey stone body like real cloth. Yet, when Arthur curiously reached to touch it, he found it hard and smooth under his fingers. What he saw of the woman properly were only a pair of wrinkled hands, and the lower part of her face which was set into an odd sort of smile. The eyes themselves where hidden in the hood and when he tried to look deeper, he saw only a pair of starry lights in the pitch darkness, as deeply as the hell the monks speak about, and then further until the skin seemed to peel from his body, revealing his soul and Arthur, gasping, tripped onto himself, feeling the ground changing from under his feet. Desperately, he unsheathed his sword for support.

"Don't look at her!" He heard Morgana scolding him. "You can't see the face of death while alive you fool!"

"A warning would've been nice." Arthur grunted, licking the salt from his lips.

"The Edge is not to be taken lightly, this place stands between the world of the living and the dead, its sea is filled with tears of mourning, shed by every soul that ever grieved." A Sea of Tears, Arthur wondered if any of his made part of this place. Did the tears of a new-born baby count? Did the late tears of a boy who missed his mother? Morgana was shaking her head in annoyance. "I think you should stay here."

"Are you seriously trying that again?" He was feeling annoyed now. "Need I remind you that I pretty much did all the work so far?"

"Lucky shot."

"Lucky?" He laughed dryly, climbing to his feet. "What was there of lucky? It was all cleverness and… Determination…"

Arthur wondered if he would have to stand his ground again, but Morgana didn't press any further. Instead, she seemed almost dejected, tired.

Morgana had seemed subdued and thoughtful ever since he touched that flower. Then again, she had been subdued and thoughtful ever since he met her again, so what else was new. Since she walked on him inside the cave they had raged, shouted and taunted one another to the bitter confessions that he should've never given a sworn enemy of his kingdom. And yet, listening to her story only made his heart break further than it originally had. Morgana had not only turned her back on Camelot, she had suffered doing it and he had been completely blind to both events.

"We need to cross the ocean, without straying from the path. Is that simple"

Arthur inhaled deeply. "Except it isn't."

"Except it isn't." Loose curls brushed over her face like a net of coals, and she idly pushed them back behind her ears. "Tomorrow and yesterday are the same inside the mist. The Ghosts will be calling you, with love or hatred." A pause. "It's very likely that hatred will be more present, it is something the name Pendragon instigates plenty of."

Arthur slowly let her meaning sink in. "Yours doesn't?"

Morgana shrugged. "I'm quite used to it."

"That is a horrible thing to say."

"It is the truth and I've working on not denying it anymore." She stepped into the water, letting the waves wash her boots clean. "Remember to keep walking. If you get lost in there you'll be dragged beyond the veil and then, well, let's just say that you'll be missed."

Arthur did his best to ignore the last bit. "How do I know I'm not lost?"

"You'll know."

"Helpful." The prince answered, hoping that it contained enough sarcasm for her. He adjusted his belt, feeling his undershirt and pants sticking to his skin. "I don't suppose there is a bath waiting for us on the other side." She said nothing. "Not that I need as much as you."

Their steps were slow, tired actions mounting from their strife losing blood and keeping their eyes open in a space where Arthur had long given up measuring time. He felt his boots touching the water with a sound like shattering glass. In front of them the mist drifted over like tendrils of pale sickness, brushing over his arms with a touch of burning earning.

"Whatever you hear, whatever you see, ignore it." Morgana's voice drifted over like that of an impatient and worried teacher.

"I've got it." Arthur answered.

"I'm serious."

He nodded.

After a while the water slowly begun to climb over his knees, their steps growing into the hard work of sore muscles. Soon, his calves were burning every time he moved, feeling the soft surface underneath sinking under every and each step. Still he moved on as the mist grew so thick even Morgana, right by his side, seemed to move behind a panel of fogged glass.

_"Arthur?"_

"What?" He turned, but Morgana was looking straight ahead. "What is it?"

"I didn't say anything." Morgana told him, sharply. "Keep walking."

"But I heard you…" There was the voice again, feminine, familiar somehow, but Morgana had her mouth close and his name now seemed far away. Then he understood. The voices. He wondered what or who was calling him.

Still they moved on. When he paid attention, he would see Morgana moving her eyes to all directions and knew she must be hearing the voices as well. Still they moved on. When they stopped saying '_Arthur_', they begun to call for _'Pendragon'_. Still they moved on. Everything was the same, they walked and walked, and further on the water was still dark and the world was white smoke. Still they moved on. The voices grew in number, a cacophony now, the shouts angry, sad, raging. Still they moved on, the sound of his panting and trudging muffled to his ears as he wondered how long this would take.

He turned to Morgana and the question died on his lips.

She wasn't there.

"Morgana?" Arthur turned around, looking for any sign of dark curls, but his surroundings were all the same. White, shapeless fog. "Morgana!"

His cries carried on, boundless towards nothing and his answer returned from many voices, but none of them were her.

* * *

Morgana stumbled into cold wet stone, her gloved hands scrapping over the rough surface as she looked around, missing the water sloshing on her knees. She wasn't on the sea anymore, that much she could tell. What surrounded her was the cave, dripping with humidity and freezing to the bone, but nothing was as chilling as the presences she felt nearby, like a wrinkle in the fabric of the world.

They stood above her, each to her own space elevated on dais of stone moulded naturally into the cave. There were three of them, but they were also one. At some point they might have had names, but to now call them such would be an insult and insulting those beings would be the same as insulting her Goddess. That was the last thing she wanted. With that in mind Morgana quietly lowered herself into a curtsy.

"Noble Disir." She called, her eyes still seeking a flash of Camelot red. "I'm honoured to be in your presence."

They loomed silently for the length of a breath, then they spoke, chopping their words among themselves. "We receive you, Morgana Pendragon. High Priestess. Half living"

Morgana frowned, uncertain as she took a step forward. "Noble Disir, I have received the runemark, but I cannot decipher its meaning. I come to you now, so that the reasons behind it be made clear."

"The reason for your judgement. For your fate. It is the same reason for the night in your dreams."

Morgana sharply inhaled the cold damp air of the cave. "Please, tell me."

"You have died. You have lived. Yet here you stand."

"I had hoped that the Goddess had blessed with such."

"It wasn't a blessing." The Disir said. "It was a sin. A sin born of love, but a sin nonetheless." Their magic reached out, their shadows growing and climbing up the walls in a force heavy with hostility the likes that pushed her back a step.

"I don't understand."

The Disir scowled under their hoods, the expression appearing ominously on all three of their faces in perfect sync. "Only the gods can alter one's fate. Only the gods can forgive or condemn. It was not a god that displaced your soul." A pale wooden staff was pointed in her direction. "The moment it happened, you begun to alter the course of the world. The course of destiny. You're a disease that spreads, marring the future of Albion."

Morgana gulped. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"

"We do not accuse, Morgana. We do not condemn. We speak of their will and only that."

"And what is the will of the gods? What does the Triple Goddess wish of me?" She tried to keep the trepidation away from her voice as she stood her ground, although it was any guess if the women could be fooled by her acting skills.

"To cleanse a sin. The sinner must repent. Punishment must be wrought. What you built. What you changed. Must be corrected."

"I've been only doing what is right! For the Goddess, for all of those who follow her and the Old Religion! I'm trying to keep all of them safe! Why would that be a bad thing? What sort of god would look into that and condemn it?" She turned from one face to other, looking for any sign of uncertainty. "I've only done the will of the Goddess!"

"You've sought vengeance." The Disir countered. "You've sought your ambitions and your dreams. Not the Goddess' ambitions. Not her dreams."

"If you know I've lived my life, then you must know how that life ended. How it was full of pain, and despair."

"Who caused that pain? Who caused that despair?"

Morgana hesitated, torn apart between the venom of the truth and the temptation to lie. She closed her eyes, clenching her hands into fists while she released a soft, hurt answer. "I did."

The Disir nodded solemnly. "What you have brought is uncertainty, Morgana. You've strayed from a path sealed by your own hands. You threaten the Goddess own promise."

"Punish me then, but keep Essetir out of your schemes."

"We cannot do that. The Goddess cannot allow that. She cannot."

There was something in their voices that was horribly familiar. An resolute certainty that would not bend, something that might've been in the mouth of a king. "I won't allow my kingdom to come to harm."

"You have no say in their fate. That is the point of your judgement. Your punishment."

"And I've repent, there must be a way to make it right, otherwise why would even put me through the trials?"

"We did no such thing."

"What?"

The one in the centre cocked her head to the side "Why should you. Pass a trial. For the second time?"

Morgana heard the answer and was hit by a new understanding. Clarity reached her like a sunrise brushing the night away, clarity that this whole situation was a sham, a setup done right under her nose for reasons she still didn't understand. "Arthur! The trials are for Arthur!"

* * *

_"Arthur…."_

His mother had cried, and he had followed with a temptation from the heart.

_"Arthur…. Arthur…"_

Her voice faded into a scream of cutting sorrow and was followed by the bawling of a newborn.

_"Arthur… Pendragon…"_

Light flared from beyond the fog, intense, crackling. Hissing echoes filled his ears as Arthur braved the waist high waters. At first he thought it might be the sun so bright was the glow that breached the mist, but slowly he glimpsed the shadowy silhouettes of bark, trunk and branches flickering under blood red fire. He felt the heat engulfing his body, ashes and ambers flying over him, twisted by whirlwinds and bursts of flames. Around him the sea parted to screams and shadows began to run past the corner of his vision. He tried to seek them out, but whenever he tried to, a new shadow would appear. He could glimpse a glimmer of naked steel and hear the gurgling dying screech of a person. More and more they came, passing him by, dying in dozens, then hundredths. When a single scream cut through his senses, the sea gave away to silence, then the silence gave away to a tormented moan…

_This is wrong_, he thought.

Arthur turned, feeling the heat from the fire gone from his back, but now the mighty rowan tree was nothing but ashes, falling piece by piece into the sea, steaming due to the heat of its burned wood. It was disassembled like a corpse might, and the sounds of its death were hauntingly human as more and more of the steam joined the fog around him. Arthur inhaled the smoke, feeling his body tensing, strung up muscles overcome by uncertainty. He coughed away, trying to rid his lungs from the burning sensation, his eyes watering and disrupting his vision. When something cold wrapped around his leg and pulled, his scream was swallowed by the waters.

_"Pendragon!" _

A chorus chanted, pulling and pulling, and no matter how much he braced his arms trying to swim back to the surface, it grew more and more distant. Arthur held his breath, kicking away with his legs, but every hit seemed harmless against the grip. When desperation made him look down to see what had him arrested, he almost lost what was left of the air in his lungs.

Her skin was rotting and peeling away from a face that once might've been a woman, judging the rags of a dress covering her body. The eyes had long been gone, leaving nothing but empty sockets that glared at him unseeing.

_"Pendragon! Pendragon!"_

Beyond her, there were more. More empty sockets, more rotten hands, more voices, all reaching from the bottom of the sea, and deeper in the dark there might be more, many more. Arthur felt their presence, their feelings, every and each voice crying in an array that would've put the greatest armies to shame and he knew, as fear curled around his hard like a cold icy serpent, that they wanted to tear him apart.

_"Pendragon! Pendragon! PendragonPedragonPendragonPendragon…"_

The chant grew quicker and as the surface grew distant from his reach, Arthur took his last remains of strength into resisting their pull. He kicked with his boot, using the iron tip again and again. When more hands came, warrior instincts made him grab for his sword, the blade coming through with a painfully slow cut. Underwater it couldn't cut limbs, but the rotting flesh suffered all the same under his battering until Arthur felt his leg free.

He turned, ready to swim back up, when something broke the water above. It was heavy and it fell trashing about, a swirl of bubbles and muffled cries as the open mouth was flooded with water. Arthur's eyes widened when he saw the young face of the boy, his tied hands and feet not allowing him any hope as he sunk towards the corpses below.

_No! _His mind screamed. Air was lacking, but he couldn't stop himself from moving towards the boy, intent on saving him whatever it cost. _I'll get you! I'll get you!_ Three strokes and he was there, pulling the now unconscious boy with him. _I got you!_ Arthur kept his impulse, climbing up and up. _You're safe. I got you! You're safe! _He could see the light shimmering atop of the water, could almost feel the relieved breath he and the boy would be taking soon. _You're safe!_ Something new broke through the surface, trashing about. His hands and feet were tied. Hopeless as he sunk. _What… _She broke the surface trashing about. Her hands and feet tied. Hopeless as she sunk…

Arthur's mind silenced as they fell around him, dozens of them. The ones farther away were only spots in the darkness underwater, but the ones closest had the faces of boys and girls of all ages, from almost men to babies, and here and there peppered in wrists, chests and ankles were druid marks glaring at him under the dim light. The voices chanted. His mind was silent.

When he looked to the boy in his arms he saw only eyes, dead in despair. His hand squeezed around the twig of an arm and then, with a roar of rage and anger, he let go. He broke surface.

* * *

"The young prince must be touched by the truth. If he is to walk the path decided for him. The path in which he would've walked."

"And what does that path implies? I certainly don't remember you taken such interest in him back in my previous life."

"There is no previous life. That life is this life. And failure was proved even though you weren't there to see." Morgana blinked and the confusion must've shown in her face. "A trial was assembled for Arthur's fate. A trial he failed. A trial in which he and others ignored their own hearts for the comfort of selfishness…"

* * *

Arthur screamed as soon as the depths of the sea disappeared, standing on his feet as if he had never glimpsed the infinitude below. He looked around himself, because the voices were back, everywhere and everywhere, there was only the mist. "What is the meaning of this?!" He cried out, still feeling the boy's body in his grasp. "Why are you showing that to me?" He screamed his question, feeling his throat tearing apart. "Who did this?!"

In answer, the misty finally seemed to part. A curtain slowly revealing what is behind it, chainmail of shining metal, red cloth of waving cloaks and golden dragons as far as the eyes could see. Surrounding Arthur were knights in red, red… red…

* * *

"In that case, what about now? Why must Arthur go through a trial a second time?" But asking the question offered her the answer. "How long as he been in there?" No answer. "So that is it, you want to weaken him! His spirit! You want to kill him!"

"That is his fate yes. Soon battle shall come. And what was shall be once more."

"I'm the one changing things."

The Disir tilted their head. "You argue is his favour. Why? Wouldn't you wish his death even at the cost of your own life?"

"I…" She couldn't think of anything to say, couldn't really understand why it was hard. Except she knew why. "I'm simply saying that I'm willing to accept my fate, but my fate only."

Silence, and then, an answer in three voices. "No."

* * *

Arthur walked.

Breathing in and out. The water came to his chest now, and he had no idea if he was on the right path. He only knew that he needed to leave this place. Above him, the knights kept staring, each one looking at him from shadows that covered their eyes. These visions didn't call for him in anger, but they bowed one by one at his passage.

_"Sire… Sire… Sire… Sire…."_

Arthur walked.

Breathing in and out. The water covered his mouth and he spit it away, knowing only that he needed to continue. Above him, the knights kept staring, each one looking at him from shadows that covered their eyes, while their hands dripped with fresh blood, each droplet falling before his gaze. These visions didn't call for him in anger, but bowed one by one at his passage.

_"Sire… Sire…. Sire… Sire…"_

* * *

"Why?" She asked, trembling voice rippling with familiar sorrow of a different kind.

"It is not to you to question."

"Maybe is should be." The Goddess had made her judgement, and Morgana, although not realizing it had been working to undo her will. Around her she felt the Disir pressing her from all sides, their magic showing its claws in a display of terror and raw power that far surpassed her own. There was no fighting fate, she had learned that the hard way already, hadn't she? She looked down to the ground. Her whole life she fought a force that couldn't be beaten and now, when she had the best chance, still it was enough. She was just Morgana, and even her Goddess was against her. Everything was against her. Everything. And yet… "Is that the Goddess dream? Is it her dream that the Once and Future King meet his fate before he is even crowned?"

"A crown doesn't make a king. Or a queen."

"You didn't answer my question." She was meet with silence. "It's my fate and Arthur's that we die, but do you really want this to happen now? Would you really put Camelot's and Essetir's futures in the balance so we might have our due? I beg your pardon, but I doubt this is the only way."

* * *

Arthur walked.

Breathing in and out. The water was lowering now, it was back at his waist and through the searing pain that run through his weary body, he knew that he was close to the end. Around him, the knights kept staring, each on looking at him from shadows that covered their eyes, while their hands dripped with fresh blood, each droplet falling in a bitter musical note. These visions didn't call for him in anger, but bowed one by one at his passage.

_"Sire… Sire… Sire… Sire…"_

* * *

The Disir bristled. "Do you question the higher powers? You who claim to serve them?"

"Yes." Morgana felt weak and alone, cold, but she summoned everything she had in the depth of her soul in anyway to stare back at three women. She thought about the sorcerers who came to her call. She thought about her victory in battle and her sister at her side. A white dragon in surcoat, to remember someone dear. Mordred hugging her close, safe and sound. Arthur, heartbroken and yet pushing her away to risk his life for her. Suddenly, in that brief moment, she was Lady Morgana staring Uther Pendragon in the eyes and urging his son away from his path. For that moment she was the Mad Witch, the bane of Camelot that was made of rage and a smirk. "I'm sure we can find another way together, or else I'll have no choice but to refuse your judgement."

"You cannot refuse it. Your fate is certain. Death shall come for you and him."

* * *

Arthur tripped, hard and rough cobblestone rubbed his knees through the trousers as the prince panted on the ground. Every inch of his body burned with effort, but he knew it was done. He crossed the sea like Morgana told him. Around him, the knights were staring, then they were moving, and suddenly they were burning, each one pleading him with eyes full of anguish, falling to the ground and trying to crawl away. These visions didn't call for him in anger, but begged him to save them.

_"Sire! My prince! Arthur! Arthur…"_

* * *

"Then I'll fight it!" She roared, seeming surprising the women.

"You cannot…"

"I most certainly can!" Her fists clenched, power surging forward, lifting strands of hair above her head. "I'm a High Priestess of the Old Religion! You said so yourself! I have gone through the trials and consumed the grail of life! I have bound souls to the Silver Wheel and ripped the veil between worlds! If you refuse to negotiate I shall do everything in my power to stop you." Gold were her eyes as her magic responded, screeching like a murder of ravens. "**Wé ****cēap**** \- wé wig"**

* * *

Arthur cried, tears dropping from his eyes and burning a path of scorching oaths down his cheeks.

Ahead of him Camelot burned with flames that towered over the highest tower, licking skies black with smoke all as she marched past the courtyard, dark hair, dark clothes and a dark army at her back. He had called her name in relief upon sighting her, and then his eyes widened in confusion. His uncle at her side, pointing and cutting down familiar faces. Arthur saw Sir Leon falling under his sword and then been burned by a spell of her hands. He saw Gwen screaming and falling, then silent as Morgana held her under her power, the sweet smile vanishing under the shadow of a dark tower.

Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival and Elyan, one by one his knights were falling and then Merlin stood before Morgana who laughed and laughed and snapped her fingers until the servant was gasping in pain, his body twisted unnaturally as his bones cracked under the strain.

"NOO!" Arthur tripped to his feet. "Morgana! STOP!"

But she paid him no mind, her green eyes frozen in glazed pleasure.

"MORGANA!"

The ground vanished and Arthur fell, his guts burning under the sword of a man with blue eyes while behind him, Morgana laughed and armies swarmed past Arthur to spread across the land. The ground vanished and Arthur fell, hard on the ground, his guts burning with a deadly wound whose heat twisted around every limb in a fiery chain.

"What a joy it is to see you Arthur." Morgana said, and in a stab of panic his hands reached for his sword, desperately grasping for the hope of survival under the strange primitive spell that told him he was in the presence of a predator. "Look at you, not so tall and mighty now."

His mind burned, a searing pain of a memory marking his mind. Her eyes were the same as when she was hurting Merlin, but worst. As if any humanity there might've once been there had vanished under the shadow of cold madness.

"… You're going to die by Mordred's hand." She told him, her hair was a wild dishevelled mess, her clothes torn and messily fitted, her face changing into a grin of satisfaction. "Don't worry dear brother, I won't let you die alone. I'll stay and watch over you, till the wolves gorge in your carcass and bathe in your blood."

As the snarls of approaching death announced his demise, Arthur struggled to move, trashing about as the darkness descended upon him… When his eyes opened again, she was still there… Green eyes… Fear and rage pierced his own ears in a raw bellowing sound… Steel flashed before his eyes, and red splashed into the rock.

A horse whined, rearing its legs while the green eyes widened. She gasped, a very human gasp, and crawled away. The horse came between them, hooves knocking in the air in front of him while Arthur tumbled back against the wall.

"Arthur…"

The sword rose in a swift glinting ray, pointing at her. The horse trotted to her and Arthur gripped his blade tighter, his confusion making him look around for more enemies… His uncle… The man with blue eyes… Morgana crawled away, climbing back to her knees even as blood seeped through her mail and to the ground. Her blood…

"Arthur…"

He opened his mouth, but his answer was an earth shuddering sob.

In that instant he saw her mouth opening soundlessly, her eyes blinking something shining and glimmering that fell down her cheeks. In that instant, he wished he could lower his sword, he wished he could apologise, but nothing happened to make it so. Arthur instead felt the world shrinking back to that small kingdom where he saw events unfurling before his eyes, distant and unimportant.

He saw his knights coming into the cave. Saw their swords shining, pointed to Morgana. He saw their attack, and then her magic throwing them away with power that made the hairs on his skin stand upright. Knights in red bowed to him… Sire… Sire… Sire… He saw her climbing on her horse, and saw the horse breaking the line of his men, her power moving like a storm, farther and farther away, away from him, where she could do no harm.

_"Don't worry dear brother, I won't let you die alone"_

By the time Merlin was kneeling by his side, he finally let his eyes close.

Giving up.

* * *

##################


	24. SMOKE AND MIRRORS

**SMOKE AND MIRRORS**

* * *

She tripped over her weak legs, her feet crunching the snows under her boots while her breath seeped away the of her body.

By all means she should have stopped by then, but her body moved on, ignoring the painful healing of her muscles and skin to take the thousandth one more step. Inevitably she faltered, fell, the cold embrace of the ground surrounding her while the snows and winds whistled past her ears, a call of wraiths in pain, seeking her soul for their realm.

_You fool._ She heard Morgause saying and she was probably right. Foolish trip. Foolish words. Foolish decisions. That was her legacy.

_"I had a dream… A nightmare…"_

Arthur's laughter followed as her tears froze and cracked, peeling the skin around her eyes and turning into crimson droplets, peppering the ground at her feet. Gasping was all she could do, almost as if she could feel the frost spreading through her lungs. She was cold and like the ice of a river she would shatter at any moment, shatter and fall.

But the fall never came.

When she closed her eyes, she also felt the warmth falling by her side, the white world eclipsed by a scaly wing, while the rumble of her love reverberated through her body. Safe and warm she fell into the darkness willingly and opened her eyes in paralyzing fear, her name sneaking past her lips in a gasp.

_Aithusa._

The dream vanished and right away came the realization that the body on her side was not scaly and although warm, it wasn't by any means as warm as the inner flame of a dragon. Still, Morgana recognized Dahut's pale coloration as she came to, painted by flaming colours, at the same time that the crackling of flames tensed her muscles.

Through no recollection of building a fire, she heard an alien sound close by, a humming melody drifting into her ears and slowly shaping itself into words.

_"And the swift touch of love's cruel smirk, fell upon their world in that winter's eve…"_ Her fingers twitched, her heartbeat pulsing in a chorus of panic to the singing _"…It was, they say, a love for the songs, for in this dark place it did never belong…_

_That is what they say of their story for us_

_That is what they say of their dance long go_

_That is what we remember, we poor sad souls_

_Who live in a world, from where love has been gone..._

The voice hummed the music along, repeating the verses here and there as the embers climbed the smoke all the way to the dark skies. It kept singing even as Morgana remembered riding Dahut away from the grove, and who she was fleeing from. It kept singing as the sadness she thought to have abandoned found a familiar heavy spot in her heart, and it was still singing as she angrily sat up, groaning in pain both from the wound and the memory of Arthur stabbing her with his sword.

"How remarkable" Immediately her guard was up, following the male form dumping fresh wood on the fire, his eyebrows raising as he rubbed his hands over the flames. "I must admit, I thought you might die there for a while, but a high priestess' capacity to survive is really impressive. You can stab them, drain them of their magic and yet their bodies will inevitably recover after a short visit to the land of comas."

The dwarf finished with an all too knowing smirk, standing before her on a pair of stunted legs which seemed even smaller as he was wrapped in a thick wolf skin. Frowning cautiously Morgana tried to move only for the pain to return and land her on arse.

"Oh, you shouldn't do that, your body can barely summon enough magic to keep you up, the wound will take time to heal." She was well aware of that. She was also aware of the meaning behind his observation, that she was defenseless.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Grettir." The dwarf said, spreading his arms around in a grand presentation before pointing at her face. "And you must be Darkness."

_I'm annoyed_, she thought, deepening her frown. "Did you help me?"

"Not at all, you don't need my help. You've survived worst or will anyway. No, this fire here, I build it for myself since I got bloody cold waiting for you to wake up, and now, you woke up" He pointed out, walking across from her and snapping his fingers. Morgana immediately felt the shift of magic in the air as he turned a small log into a chair to seat on, which he did, squeezing himself on it and peering at her with green dark eyes.

"If you're not some kind stranger out to help unconscious women…" Morgana said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Then what on earth are you doing here?"

"That is a good question." He told her. "I'm here because I chose to be, a choice I had to make due to the choices you yourself have made. That is how it works isn't it? We choose, we act, but the consequences always go far beyond ourselves. Take your actions before the sacred court for instance."

Morgana casually leaned back on Dahut's side, feeling the assurance of the warm body so close. "Are you here to kill me?"

"I'm here wondering what in the name of the Other World you were thinking."

She studied him carefully, the sharpness of his eyes glinting with wit behind his pleasant demeanour. "I bet you already know."

"Yes, yes, I know. I know you suddenly gained the ability to uncover all those precious feelings you once tried to ignore, feelings you killed, maimed and burned to ashes suddenly spreading wings like a reborn phoenix inside your soul. Very poetic. Under any other circumstance it would be quite beautiful." The dwarf grimaced, leaning his chin on a fist. "The thing about phoenixes though, is that they're just as dangerous and deadly as they are pretty. A phoenix eye for instance can do a whole lot of harm, yes?"

"What?"

"A phoenix eye, you have used one before." He explained with a smirk. "I've met the gallant prince once, in a time when he had a gift around his wrist, a gift he claimed to be from someone very very dear."

Morgana huffed, feeling the memory jumping to the front of her mind like a slap to the face. "I should've dropped poison into his wine and be done with it." Looking back, she should have dropped poison on all their cups. They could all die together, her, Arthur and Uther and people would sing songs about the Purple Feast or some other nonsense like that. "I should've killed everyone."

"Why didn't you?"

The question sounded fair enough and yet Morgana didn't have an answer to offer, not even now after so long and so much – supposedly – wisdom. "Because I was a foolish little girl, perhaps."

"Really?"

"Yes" Maybe it was her exhaustion, but she couldn't really stop herself from talking. "A foolish little girl stumbling through this world as if she had any idea what she was doing, too foolish to realize not even her own Goddess was on her side of things and her best intentions are doomed to failure."

"That is a very fatalistic way to see things."

She scoffed. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"It's probably the tiredness talking. I've always heard that accessing the realm of the crone demands copious of amounts of magic. The fact that you brought someone from there, well, I'm surprised you're even alive."

Morgana remembered the effort that it took to reach beyond the material world, the effort it took to pull Arthur from the clutches of a Goddess, a sensation not unlike dying, and yet she was sure she had only managed to do it because the Disir didn't interfere. Gulping, she turned back to Grettir whose face was clearly amused. "I grow weary of you."

"Really? And here I was, just beginning to like you" He smiled, she didn't.

"What do you want?"

"What do I want? That is a complex question. I'm afraid the last real want of my heart was to see the man I loved freed of his curse. But that was already fulfilled. If you meant something more casual, I'd say I want what every creature wants, to be safe, to be fed and to be in peace, but our wants can change." He paused, his smile seeming sincere for the first time in the conversation, but just as quickly turning again into an act. "When you used that phoenix eye, you wanted the death of Arthur Pendragon, but you also couldn't stand the sight of his dying, so didn't want to, as you put it, drop poison into his wine. Really, had you been that same person and left him to the Disir to do as they wished, I think you might've been forgiving, your Goddess would probably reward you or maybe not. After all who can understand the wants of a god?" He asked the last question almost mockingly, and she paused.

"I understood what they wanted very well."

"Did you?" He asked daringly.

"I did." She answered. "They said they wanted to correct what I had changed."

"They wanted to keep what had already happened. Although it might not seem like it, the gods sealed many fates already. They won't risk be challenged in such straight manner as you do with your deeds."

"So you are on their side, then."

"Not really."

She ignored him. "They were trying to turn Arthur mad."

"And it would've been very efficient. Arthur loses his mind to whatever they show him, his nobble heart gets backed into a corner and he goes to war, a hero in shining armor. You face him for your own reasons, maybe to defend yourself, maybe to reason with him, but that boat has sailed and you two die in the field of battle, just like before, it doesn't sound so bad does it?" She pierces him with a look that he takes as a silent inquire. "They don't understand these things you know? The fear of battle and the pain of losing a loved one. For the gods this would be just a small drop of blood on a very big curtain, and the curtain is crimson and in a very dark corner of the castle, so who cares that it is there?"

"I care."

Grettir nodded. "For them we're children you know? Raucous, misbehaving children that should stay in our place and listen to them." He sniffled. "Like every parent however they seldom understand their own child, and even more, they almost never expect for them to rebel, until they do."

Morgana closed her eyes, those words sounded very important, but she was so tired that her mind almost missed the obvious signs around her. "You seem to know a lot about gods."

"I've been on their paths before, I've challenged them and I've paid the price."

"Have you?"

"I have."

"And now?"

"Now, I have their mercy, I have the path that can bring you forgiveness." He explained. "You're a high priestess, but you committed a sin that even your Goddess cannot turn a blind eye to. So the Disir have an offer to make."

"What offer?"

"One life."

The answer twisted out of his mouth in smoke, the understanding settling into her guts like led. Her answer was immediate. "No."

Grettir pierced her with his gaze. "**Wé c****ē****ap - w****é**** wig****. **War or bargain. That is what you said before, and that is your answer. Instead of bending the world to its original fate, they want one life, and if you refuse, well, would you really dare to war against the gods?"

"I've had enough of them."

"Well, yes you did, and all of us do hate our parents once in a while, except some can be very straight forward when challenged."

From the mists of the past, she felt rough - leather covered - fingers squeezing at her throat. Her answer was a snarl. "I can protect myself."

"Oh, but the gods don't attack with pouring rain and dark skies child. Although you might push them to do so. No, they attack with something more delicate. Fate, destiny, some might call it doom."

Morgana inhaled sharply, the world shifting around her to Emrys piercing blue gaze one more for a whole terrible moment. Blinking back into the present, she allowed Grettir's eyes to take her in. "How do you know?"

A pause.

"As far as promised kings go, Arthur Pendragon is not the first and won't be the last. All of this has happened, a thousand times over in a thousand different places and when these tales offer defiance and sins, the ruin comes from the hearts of those involved." He told her. "Tell me if you heard this one before. A wise king rules, justly and well. A good friend stands by his side and a knight serves him faithfully. But the gods are not happy with them, so they sent forth their judgement. Not a horde of powerful beings, but threads these hearts can't help but follow."

"The gods know of our hearts you see? They can read them in the glow of our soul as easily as we read words on a book. So when the knight's love is put on trial they know the king's heart is built on laws of iron and mercy will be short. They know the limits of the knight's love and it breaks in splinters of blood. They know the heart of the good friend, and know that his eagerness to help will make him sacrifice his own morals and his own spirit will eventually corrode. That is what the gods know, Morgana, not the future or fate, but the choices that are inevitable to us... If you refuse my counsel, know this. Your kingdom will crumble under the weight of its own heart."

* * *

############################


	25. BEYOND THE LIES

**BEYOND THE LIES  
**

* * *

"I'm doing this as a favour"

"Don't worry, I promise to go easy on you. After all, being younger and the prince, it would be improper if I hurt you."

"You shouldn't, I won't go easy on you like I did this morning." He was standing across from her on the courtyard, wearily watching her trouser clad frame as she took in his warning with a smirk and a tilt of her head.

"You were going easy on me when I dropped you on your arse?"

"You're a girl, I didn't want to hurt you."

"How chivalrous."

"But now I know you're actually a troll" There was a pleasant feeling of vindication when she balked at his words, for once falling short of being that annoying girl that lived in his castle.

"What did you call me?"

"You heard me" He taunted. "That is why you were kissing Lian yesterday right? He looks just like troll!"

"You…"

"It's truth what they say about being attracted to our equals"

"You little brat!" She came at him, her training sword coming on his side and vibrating through his own wooden blade. Laughing, Arthur stepped back, quickly countering her blows and going on the offensive. He knew now not to underestimate her, so he tried to end it quickly.

For an instant he saw her eyes widening at his attack and he felt her struggling to defend from his blade, dancing out of his reach with her chest heaving. Grinning, Arthur pressed, barely stopping in time when her weapon whistled in front of his nose. Despite being confident that she wouldn't really try to cause him harm, he was still embarrassed from the yelp that escaped him.

"Tired?" Morgana asked.

He tightened his grip on the practice blade, feeling his muscles moving to raise it in the basic stance Sir Leon had taught him. The led filled wood was as heavy as a real blade, and the weight was actually a comfort as he blew a raspberry her way.

Morgana blinked, he wasn't sure if surprised or offended, and he didn't get time to find out as she cried out and came at him. She surprised him not by rushing him with her sword but her body, startling when he felt her pushing with such a force that he was thrown to the ground and on the mud. Cold and moist seeped into his clothes as his scream faded, his chest heaving as he blinked towards the night sky, the moon smirking down at the fallen prince.

"What the…" Her laughter slowly became clear to his shocked senses, a series of giggles that she didn't bother to hide as she touched the round end of her practice weapon to his gut. "You cheated!"

"I never cheated you stupid!" She leaned over, raising her eyebrows. "When you're fighting your whole body is fighting, it's not my fault you can only think of your sword" Her eyes darted to his weapon, lying on the ground. "Although stick is more like it."

Arthur narrowed his eyes as she pointed her sword at him, so smug he felt his annoyance returning. He looked to the wooden sword to her face, so different from the sad girl his father forbid coming to practice again. Then he smirked, grabbed the stick, as she called it, and pulled her down on him. Finally, those stupid green eyes widened in surprise and Morgana shrieked, batting him away as they fell on a storm of limbs and something that slowly morphed into laughter as he threw mud on her face and she pulled off his collar to drop some into his clothes.

Amidst the confusion, somehow, he found himself on his back with Morgana once more looking down on him, smiling. It was, he would realise later, the first time he saw her smiling, a real smile, not a mocking grin or a forced expression, but something real and beautiful, a joy that irradiated into his being and made him eager to see more of it at the same time that a sound like snapping chains resounded inside his heart. _I won, _he wanted to say, to see if she would argue again so this uncanny space they found themselves in would vanish, but just as he thought about that her eyes widened in surprise. The smile vanished. As Morgana froze over, Arthur frowned opening his mouth to question and yet finding his voice mute. He couldn't talk! He shouted and yet no sound could be heard, he tried to move but his limbs were stone and heavy. Then, finally, he felt it, something warm spreading through his hand, the iron smell that reached his nostrils. Morgana's mouth opened, but instead of words there was a blotch of crimson running her chin and then she was falling away from him, her hands clutching her middle while his sword remained on his hand. Steel, not wood. Red steel… Red, red, red…

_Pendragon._

The scream teared out of him like a chained beast.

Limbs flaying, he struck at the ghosts around him, sheets flying as he sought the target of his suffering, only to realize his reality was empty and dark and the realm of his dreams could not touch it. Under him there was a soft mattress and pillows, not hard ground and before his eyes were covers and furs and not the bleeding body of Morgana.

Someone was knocking on his door as well, and he idly asked about it, only for his voice to come out weak husky. Gulping, he tried again, finally making the sound stop.

"My lord? Are you well? We heard noises."

"It was nothing!" He shouted, perhaps a little too harshly, but when the silenced stretched itself for a while, Arthur was all too glad.

Standing up, the prince moved to the table, taking the jar and gulping mouthfuls of fresh water like a man dying, before the sight of his window called for his gaze. Outside, one of the first nights of spring drew the citadel and the lower town into a blissful slumber. Despite the lingering cold, the promise of warm days lured his people into dreams of fresh harvests and sunny days. Yet, he knew that to be an illusion, like so many other things. In truth, the spring of Camelot promised only war, and men who would leave their homes, perhaps never to return.

Idly, his hand shot out to brush over the cold glass, ignoring the shivers running down his sweaty body. Like the coming days, it felt like winter clung to him as well, frosting over the slowly crumble of his world. Soft blue eyes darted to the scar on his wrist. It was a small thing that perhaps she hadn't managed to heal entirely, or maybe magic couldn't really erase scars. Arthur wasn't sure, but oddly enough he realized that would've liked to ask the question. There were many things he wanted to ask her.

Somewhere along the night his heart seemed to have given itself a knot, lumbering each beat through dams of stone he had built over the years. Suddenly her felt every bit of it though, clutching at his chest to fight off the burning behind his eyes. He wouldn't give in to such a weakness, not even in the privacy of his chambers. No, he couldn't. Now, more than ever, more than anything, Arthur needed to be strong, strong like he was thought to be his whole life.

Cursing under his breath, he splashed some water on his face, letting the cold snap him out of it. The knot was still there, pulsing into his chest, but weak now as he moved to the table and the scrolls lying atop of it. Deft fingers brought the candles to life as he looked over letters and numbers, information that had blurred on his mind after the first hours pouring into it. It was still the same thing he had learned that morning, the same thing he learned two days ago.

The only thing that had changed was the tray of food lying by its side. He couldn't remember if it had been Merlin or Gwen who left it there, given how they had both been trying to squeeze information out of him lately, Arthur wouldn't be surprised it was one or the other. He knew were worried of course, and he probably would be too, but the prince couldn't bring himself to reveal what he saw in that cave or what happened between him and Camelot's infamous traitor. Was it shame that kept his mouth shut? Arthur wondered. Or perhaps was the inevitable pull of his fears into reality. That she was gone for good, and his hopes were fruitless at the end of the day.

Once more, he looked to the scrolls. If that was the case of his fears, than this would surely bring down the curtains for good, dropping him into a reality he felt not ready to deal with.

That is what you did. He accused her ghost. You took the world he lived in and turned every truth into mud, bound to be washed away at a moment's notice. Arthur was raised into a world of honour and duty where a man made his fate with his own hands, but all of the sudden, that wasn't enough. So he took that in, glanced at the window and the tray of food, thinking of the simple truth and he could still hold on to.

Suddenly, Arthur realized that he needed to move before he lost the courage. His sword was hanging from the bedpost and he quickly tied to his waist, noticing with surprise that there was a streak of light now cresting over the horizon. The castle would be waking up by now. Hurriedly he moved the door, only to be surprised by knocking into a pile of twigs in the shape of a boy.

"Merlin!" He cried out as his servant fell on his arse in a moaning heap.

"Oh, god! What the hell?"

"What the hell?" Arthur gritted his teeth. "What the hell were you doing?"

"I was… About to wake you up?"

"Wake me up?"

"Yeah, you know, that thing I do every morning?"

"Right."

"Are you going to help me up?" And there it was, the sheepish smile that was typical of him, a smile he had missed for a while, absent as he reported the state of his men. His men that were hurt battling Morgana. Morgana who… "So?"

"You have two arms and two legs, Merlin. Do it yourself!"

He stepped around Merlin walking briskly down the hallways. The sight of his servant encouraging further, hurrying his pace. Behind him, he heard Merlin calling out, but he couldn't stop.

"Where are you going?"

"To talk to someone."

"Right now?"

"Yes, Merlin, right now" He climbed a set of stairs, two steps at a time, his servant struggling behind him.

"You're not even dressed!"

"I'm dressed enough." A shirt and pants, that is what he needed all right. His feet were cold though, almost too cold.

"Who are you going to talk to…"

His voice trailed off when they stopped in front of a door, his answer clearly answered. "I want you to wait here, Merlin. Do you understand?"

He didn't wait for a reply, entering before Merlin could try to argue with him. Arthur wouldn't have it, not if this situation could place him in danger.

His uncle was already up and about when Arthur crossed the threshold, with a servant moving around him to tie his dark doublet at his back. The man was surprised to see him, but quickly covered it with a familiar smile that both eased and made Arthur hesitate.

"Sire, what a surprise, I wasn't expecting you."

"Uncle." He stood awkwardly on the side, his eyes running across the rather common chambers. The only difference he saw from any other were the displayed armour and the De Bois flag hanging on the wall which was nothing but a pair of dark wings.

Everyone in the De Bois family had birds as their crests. His mother's own martlet still rested on the brooch he had in his chambers and, not long ago, a white Phoenix was haunting the kingdom with a succession of single combats. His uncles' crest had once been a falcon, Arthur remembered, but these days the symbol that decorated his belt buckle and jewellery was that of a martlet and a phoenix side by side, the meaning never lost to anyone of high birth.

"That should be all boy" Arthur recognized his old servant for an instant as he left them alone, and then he was the target of his uncles' interested eyes. He must make for a fretful sight really, with a shirt and trousers and bare feet, he was more a peasant than a prince seeking a proper meeting. "So, to what do I owe this early pleasure? Does it concern our latest counsel meeting? You didn't speak much, but everyone could tell you seemed off, somehow."

"I'm afraid was unfit for length arguments at the time."

"Aren't we all?" Agravaine turned around - his sword glinting from where it was, tied to his belt - pouring wine into two cups and offering one to Arthur who hesitated. "It's watered down, worry not."

"Of course."

"So?"

Arthur took a long gulp, and half wished the wine wasn't watered, because at that moment he could really use a strong burning in his throat, if only to wake up and ward off a headache he was sure to have coming. "You have been of great help since you came here uncle, I really can't say that enough."

"I was only doing my duty."

"No, I mean, yes, but your counsel, your knowledge. You know how to deal with the church, how to deal with the court. I'm really thankful."

"That is only age talking" Agravaine paused, the gentle smirk stabbing Arthur somewhere into his twisted heart. "I did promise your mother I would protect you."

"You did…" His voice broke down into a choking mess at the echo of a dream, when his mother's face stood before him, but that had been a lie as well, another dismantled lie revealing the horror behind it, because that was all that lies could reveal.

"Arthur?"

"Did you really promised her that?" He caught himself asking, nursing the cup on his hands. He felt Agravaine's presence by his side, but his eyes had strayed to the De Bois crest now, taking in the rich detail of the wings, the craft of the golden thread intertwined to take in the beautiful pattern.

"I did promised your mother that, Arthur, I would never lie about such a thing." His uncle said. "After her marriage it was hard not to miss her. She would always be at court, seeing to her duties as Queen, while Tristan and I, we'd both be running our state, riding out in Uther's wars. Fair to say, growing up together only to be apart for so long, it was tough on us, so when she came to visit us one summer, we were thrilled. Of course, it was in that same visit that she told us about her pregnancy. She made us promise to be good uncles to her son."

"She was that certain I would be a boy?"

"She knew."

Arthur frowned at the cryptic answer, but his uncle offered nothing more. The older man had his lips pursed and his eyes darkened into something somber and brittle that almost made him give up on his next question.

"You loved her?"

"Our parents perished very early, Arthur." Agravaine told him. "In some cases that might destroy a family, but the three of us, we grew closer than ever. Did I love your mother? With all my heart, Arthur. I loved both my siblings with all my heart."

Arthur nodded, outside the day was bright and early, birds would be singing and the peasants would begin their day. Long ago, he had grown closer to someone who lost parents as well didn't he? And Arthur was sure, so sure, that she loved him them.

"Have you any love for me, uncle?" For an instant he was angry at his own question, at how soft and earning he sounded in revealing such a stupid, girly thought. He was supposed to be a man, a king, not a maiden earning for affection. "Have you any love for me at all, given that you would betray me?"

"My prince." His uncle faltered. "Is this a joke?"

"I'm not joking."

"Where did you get this idea from?" Agravaine questioned angrily, pacing back to stare at him in a clear display of indignation. "Did Hector plant these doubts in your mind? I assure you Arthur, that is preposterous! Clearly the work of real traitors"

"I doubt that." The visions were so vivid in his mind, of Camelot burning, his men dying and Agravaine marching through their corpses with a cruel and dishevelled Morgana by his side. "My father never liked you, I never understood that. I thought he was just being father, but…" It was so painful to look back to those days where his uncle's presence was always marked by his father stone hard stares, vigilant, intense.

"Your father is a hard man, there were never doubt about it."

The bitterness didn't escape his notice as much as Agravaine tried to hide it. Arthur wondered if it was always there and only now he was open to see it. "I know you're working for Morgana, uncle."

"My prince…"

"I looked about it, the ledges from De Bois. More than half of the horses bred in your state disappeared, and I found no clue to where they might've gone. Nobody bought them, Camelot requested every and each mount for the coming war, and yet not even half of them came into our possession. Your state also has set its own patrols across the borders, every and each one sent from Camelot to your territories disappeared. It was you, you made them disappear so you could aid Essetir did you not?" His fists were clenched, his knuckles white as diverted his gaze from the man in front of him. He was another lie. "Tell me the truth uncle."

"Arthur…"

"Tell me the truth!"

Something changed on Agravaine's face, his gaze hardened and for a long instant he didn't move. "So you do know, don't you?"

"I wish I didn't"

"Did you tell someone about this?"

Arthur gulped, speaking softly. "So it is truth."

"Did you?"

"You'll be arrested and judged for your crimes, uncle." Arthur forced himself to say. "I assure you that you'll receive just treatment as it fits your station, and that you'll be free to present any proof of your innocence as you may be able to."

Agravaine laughed, a cruel mocking laugh that sent Arthur reeling back. It felt almost like Morgana's laugh. "I know very well what justice to expect from Pendragons."

"Uncle."

Agravaine's sword came free with a whimper. "Move aside, Arthur."

"How could you? You promised…"

"I promised her, yes." Agravaine snarled. "I promised her to look after her whelp right before Tristan and I learned the nature of her pregnancy! Before we learned of what your father did…" He hesitated, seeming struggling to reign himself in. "Move aside Arthur!"

Beyond his shock, Arthur managed to shake his head, putting himself in front of the door. "I cannot allow your treason to continue, uncle."

"You can't?"

"In the name of my mother I promise to advocate for mercy…"

"You mother was my sister first!" Agravaine shouted before stopping himself, a bitter chuckle resounding like a hammer hitting an anvil, crashing any hope Arthur had of the man calming down. "Look at you! As if you had any right! You, the abomination Uther made grow inside my sister."

_My fault_. Arthur thought, numbly, cold. "I'm sorry."

"It's too late for that."

"I'm sorry."

"My lady will have to forgive me, she was supposed to kill you herself." He almost didn't react in time, tripping clumsily to escape the sword that whispered in front of his face. His back hit a column behind him, while his fingers desperately grabbed for his weapon. "Alas, I'll have to end you."

"Uncle, please!"

Arthur sliced blindly, the clash of steel filling his ears and echoing through the chambers. Gritting his teeth, the prince moved the blades together, running his own steel along his uncle's until the older man had no choice but to step back. The reprieve was short lived. Like the warrior Arthur had heard about only in stories, Lord Agravaine was immediately upon him, each slice flourished by anger and advanced fencing. It struck Arthur suddenly that his uncle was not mad beyond reason, the gaze in front of him was cold and calculating through a throng of hatred that he only now saw the depths of.

Had this being there all along? The thought distracted him, and for a moment he lost all sense of space, knocking his hip on the table. The pain flared, coming out in grunt as he heard the clattering metal and shattering vases on the floor. Something hard and brute hit the side of his face. A door burst open as a familiar voice called out his name in such a raw desperation that it reached him all the way into his bone. Somewhere in the back of his mind Arthur half expected to be dead already, but the mortal blow never came. Instead, years of training moved his arms in stabbing motion, blindly seeking the enemy where his senses felt him.

Experience made it easy to feel when the steel plunged into flesh.

His uncle's voice made a gargled motion, the echoes of a dream of dying and red. When Arthur turned, his eyes found first his uncle's arm, somehow wrapped around the drapes, and then his face, frozen in clear shock. Sticking to his guts, the sword shook, seeping the red of blood into his dark clothes and over the crest of his belt buckle.

"Arthur?" It was Merlin's voice. "Arthur are you all right?"

"Uncle?" The prince called instead, rushing in to hold the man before he fell down. Desperate eyes searched for his own, and Lord Agravaine's mouth twisted into a crimson grin. "Uncle?"

"Killed… by a Pendragon…" The man said, struggling with every word. "How appropriate…"

"Uncle, don't talk."

The man wasn't listening anymore, his eyes were focused on something else, losing light. "Tristan… Ygraine…"

After his breath ceased and Arthur followed the dying man's gaze, he found the open wings of De Bois on the wall, dark and menacing like the truth behind the lies.


	26. FEAR IS SHARP

**Fear is Sharp**

* * *

When she met the young girl that morning, what Gwen found was someone whose hurt and grief was raw and exposed for all to see. She saw it in those hollow eyes and the circles underneath, her low shoulders and unkempt hair which stood up in wild rebel curls as she hushed her children out of the room.

It was shocking to say the least, but more shocking was the realization that, despite having a friendly relationship with the chief cook, Gwen had never actually met his daughter, not personally and now, here she was, ready to be on the other end of bridge she had visited before.

"I came to offer my condolences." Gwen explained, trying to meet Gisela's eyes, but managing it only for so long as the silence stretched over them. "Your father was a very good man."

"He was a good father, a good grandfather too." She answered with a voice broken and mended. "Did you pick a new head of the kitchen already?"

"I don't make these decisions." The girl scoffed. "But I suppose Audrey will take over now, she was already in charge when your father fell ill."

Gisela nodded in response, brushing dark curls behind her ear. "She deserves it. Tell her not to worry, I'm packing already. She can have the quarters by the end of the day."

"You don't need to leave right now."

"Yes I do."

Gwen chewed on her bottom lip, looking around the quarters. The chief cook lived in the castle as all high staff, and as a high staff, he had a place that, while not nearly as fancy as a prince's, was far fancier than anything Gwen had known as home. Two beds, tables, chairs, there was even some silverware lying around, which should be a testament to how much value was put on good food except that, just like her father's forge, this also belonged to the king and as such, would be given to someone else.

"Just so you know, your position in the kitchens is guaranteed, and you can take some days off, you don't need to worry."

Gisela stared at her sharply. "The castle is packed to the brim, and you're telling me to take a day off."

"You don't need to worry." Gwen repeated, surprised to be answered with a soft bitter chuckle. "You'll be taken care of, I assure you."

Gisela mumbled the words back, disbelief touching her gaze. "It must be great to have that kind of power."

"I don't understand."

"The prince, I wonder how often you have to sleep with him to be able to do that."

Gwen inhaled sharply, the change from the gossip becoming a blunt accusation hitting her like a smack to the head, dissolving her words into blabbering. "That is not… We don't… Nothing like that has ever happened between me and the prince."

"Sure."

"I'm telling you the truth!"

"Right." Gisela rebutted, skeptical. "You don't need to hide you know, I won't judge you. We do what we have to, besides the sorcerers are coming to kills us all anyway, so what does it matter?"

"I'm not hiding anything." But the girl didn't believe her, Gwen could see it in her face and that, it seemed, was enough to snap something inside her, something that made her spun on her heels and push the door open. She didn't want to be there anymore. "Like said, you'll be taken care of."

When she had put enough distance between her and the woman, Gwen stopped in the deserted hallway. Alone, she stood there, staring at the pot lying on the ground. It was a simple vessel, holding torches avaiable to walk the castle at night. Gritting her teeth, she felt the split release of her anger right before sending the whole thing clattering with a kick. The sound was loud, it reverberated all over her like a snapping beast, snapping at her with each piece of wood that rolled over the ground.

Panting, the young woman allowed the act to settle, blowing any satisfaction way with a sharp gutting shame.

"M'lady! What happened?" The servant girl appeared, her young face holding a healthy blush from her work. "Oh…"

"I'm not a lady." Gwen mumbled weakly as she watched the girl begin to pick up the pot and the torches. Luckily, there was no oil inside yet. Resigned, she ran to help up, putting everything together as more footsteps came along.

"He said he will give a speech before our departure, something for the people." Lord Hector was saying.

"Our king is wise, my lord." Sammus, the chief steward declared, keeping pace with the man. "Commoners scare easily, as you know."

"I'm well aware of that of course, a strong hand is always needed to tame mindless sheep. Hopefully, one day our prince will learn that."

They passed by just as Gwen straightened the pot and the spare torches, their shadows covering the women in coldness, eyes moving over them without a second glance. Them, in instants they were gone and Gwen could breathe easily, thanking the girl for her assistance.

"It was no problem." She said lingering, eyes following where the chief steward had disappeared to. Gwen sighed.

"There is no reason to be afraid, you know?"

Kayla darted her eyes towards her and back down again. "I've heard stories, m'lady. Ever since I was a child, about sorcerers lying with demons to be… to be what they are. I heard they take you to torture and sent to hell."

"Those are just stories…" Gwen said, uncertain.

"I heard they kidnap babies, and… and women… they…"

"Just stories, Kayla, besides, Camelot has plenty of men to protect us. Besides, I know for a fact that there is nothing dangerous in Camelot, you can believe me on that, all right?" She thought briefly about Gisela's assumptions. "I've got first hand information." Kayla blushed, and yet finally, she seemed to believe her. "Is there anything else, Kayla?"

"Huh, no, I mean, yes, m'lady, Sammus told us to change the chandelier before the feast tonight and…"

"Just pull it down and put it back up, if he asks, tell him you changed it."

"Of… of course."

Gwen winked, and Kayla went a way, relief unburdening her steps at least for now. Alone again, Gwen allowed her mask to fall.

Now that war was certain the streets had become packed with soldiers and fighting men, banners and sigils from all over the Five Kingdoms could be seen if you looked outside. In the castle itself her days seemed to become shorter as well. At times like this the chief steward's incompetence became even more obvious – he was very fond of giving out orders so he could seen in charge - resulting in her giving orders behind his back and not caring that he took all the credit. She was sure it would blow up at some point, but for now… She carried on arranging chambers and servants to see to every retinue that crossed the gates, making sure they were all welcome and, for a while, she had almost forgotten how everyone came to regard her.

Crisis ended up falling on her lap each and every day. She had to make sure Lord Trent had warm chambers for he hated the cold, while King Banna couldn't have milk or cheese in his meals. King Alined seemed to have a complaint in the tip of his tongue every morning and it was all she could do not to pull at her hair when he ranted one day about his creaking windows. The greatest and latest crisis so far though was watching Fall getting sick. He had been a gentle man, kind an friendly to all, and still god had taken him to the other world and Gwen, amidst everything, had seen to his burial and now, to his family.

_It was the right thing to do_. She assured herself as her feet took away to the Physician's tower for a moment of reprieve. Her feelings didn't change her duty, they never had, and never would or, at least, she tried to keep them from interfering, caging every bit of rage and bitterness deep inside her until they were as tamed and broken as a house dog.

It was, perhaps, just another symptom of recent days. Lord Hector could speak of people being sheep, but Gwen knew better. Fear was natural and people would always be afraid, tales of magic or not. No, the difference was in their king. When the cold had struck, Arthur had taken the reins of the kingdom and Camelot stood powerful and bright. There was warmth to be had, and hope for tomorrow. Now, it was as if the castle had shrunk and it wasn't because of its packed hallways. No, it was something else, a tension that covered its walls in permanent shadows, squeezing its people in guts of stone.

Luckily, a few places still resisted inside the castle. In some places the sun resisted.

* * *

"Ouch!"

"Shush."

"That hurt."

"Well, I guess you better avoid getting into this state again, then." She said, trying to be gentler this time as she slowly cleaned up the wound, but from the corner of her eye she caught his smile.

"I'll try to remember that next time I get in a fight involving magic." He perked up. "Maybe I should go after the Handbreaker."

"Lancelot."

"You know it would be insteresting and I would be safe. You know he only attacks those who lay with goats." Gwen snorted, the laughter bubbling from her chest as Lancelot went on. She still had no idea how those tales begun, apaprently some knights had come back from patrol claiming a sorcerer had attacked them, each one with horrible injures on their sword hands. Somehow though, no sorcerer was ever found and, amisdt the chaos, the tale gained a silly touch.

"Well, I heard the Handbreaker only goes after the impures, it doesn't matter if goats are involved."

"Impures?"

"Yes, the impures" She wondered how stupid the sounded, as she turned and wiggled her eyebrows at Lancelot. He guffawed, chest trembling as he laughed, up untill his shoulder sparked with pain. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry, it happens, I'm glad actually."

"You shouldn't be glad to feel pain."

"I should if it means enjoying the gift of your jokes, my lady." Lancelot still smiled, and Gwen couldn't stop a rueful sigh.

"You silly men are all too eager for your scars."

"Many are, many are too eager to have enemies." She gulped, her mood sinking as she was once again reminded about the person responsible for such a wound. Still, Lancelot had been lucky as far as she understood. When Arthur and his knights found the cave of the Disir they had been separated and when they found Arthur again he had been on the ground, covered in blood and his sword pointing at Morgana. As they had sworn to do, each one of them dashed towards the woman with no hesitation.

"I think she was weak." Lancelot had told her one night after his return, eating some food she had brought him for supper. She remembered being anxious with Arthur's distance, to a point when she finally caved and questioned Lancelot about what had happened. "She seemed so weak, just standing there. Percival was roaring at her, and I thought he was going to do it, you know? I've seen him carrying barrels of mead on his shoulders without help, I knew he could cut her in half if he reached her but he didn't, she raised her hand and threw him against the wall. Then we were at her as well, and, you know what happened. I almost caught her too, but it was as if she got fast somehow, and in the blink of an eye she was whispering and…"

His voice had drifted off and Gwen didn't need to hear the rest.

They were all alive after facing Morgana's magic, but none of them were unimpaired. Percival was still seeing Gaius every day after hitting his head and being knocked out, Gwaine had three cracked ribs and her brother twisted his ankle and broke two fingers on his left hand. Lancelot though, the brave man had almost lost his arm she was told. It was like his shoulder had been pierced by hot iron, burning skin and muscle and leaving behind scorched flesh. Merlin had done his best out there and Gaius as well, but Lancelot still couldn't quiet move his arm right. When he thought she wasn't looking he would tried to grab a cup or raise his arm above his head only to wince in pain or be struck by tremors as his body refused to obey.

Still, for her he would smile and somehow she was allowed to forget the rest of her day. Looking on, she verified that the wound was clean enough and begun to dress it up, just as Gaius had taught her, deft hands idly seeking the dagger to cut the bandages.

"That is fancy."

Surprised, she looked down. She had taken Morgana's dagger by mistake, the gold glistening in her hands. "It's a gift." She said, since it wasn't really a lie. "I'm done."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Lancelot felt his shoulder for bit, eyeing the dagger as it disappeared inside her dress pocket. "I hear you'll be marching with the army, is that true?"

"Gaius needs volunteers to help with the wounded."

"So it is truth." She shrugged; there was no way she would stay behind while her friends were away. "I wish you would stay safe."

"Lucky me, your wishes do not rule me, right?"

"No." He recognized, coking his head to the side. "It's the other way around actually."

There was something heavy in the way he said those words, heavy and loaded with unspoken intent, that made her throat feel dry. "In that case, make sure I don't see you hurt out there. I don't want to patch you up for new wounds."

"I'll consider that a command, my lady."

Gwen shook her head, she had gotten so tired of being called such, but with Lacenlot, the outline affection made the title seem almost sweet. "You do that, Sir"

"I'm not a Sir anymore."

"You're the truest knight there ever was."

"I-I don't think that is true, only a king can make a knight and if the king unmade me…"

"Lancelot." He stopped, looking up uncertainly. "It was unfair and it was stupid."

"Gwen."

"It was." She wouldn't hesitate to speak ill of the king now, not when she was talking to him. "A title does not rule what is in your heart, or at least, I don't believe that. Do you?"

Lancelot stared up at her for a long moment, his eyes were shining under the dim morning and, finally, his face broke into a grin.

"Has anyone told you of how wise you are, my lady?"

"Not today"

At that moment she feels almost like a reflection, doing nothing but copy his smile, his comfort pulling her along in a strange amalgam of two different people. When she made to pull away, finishing the work on his shoulder, her hands lingered, running from the bandages to the soft skin where his hand met her hold in a comforting grip. There was so much that could be said about Lancelot, but that grip said a lot about the person he was: steady, strong and gentle; someone who deserved the world, someone who deserved far better than her.

Seeking a distraction, she glanced out of the window, to the sun steadily climbing up the sky until the door banged open, startling them both.

"Gwen!? Gwen?"

Immediately, she jerked away from the touch, turning around as soon as she saw Merlin entering the quarters. His face was flushed as he stopped short, eyeing both of them with a strange look that, oddly enough, made guilt squirm inside her.

"Merlin?"

"Lancelot, how are you doing? How is the shoulder?" As a physician's apprentice Gwen almost expected Merlin to correct her work, but beyond a glimpse, he made no comment. "I wanted to check on you."

"I'm good, Gwen has been of great help." She turned away, feeling the heat on her cheeks. "How is Percival?"

"He is doing fine, up and eating more than Gaius and I." Merlin informed them. "He'll probably be ready to march with the army."

"Should he be doing that?" Gwen questioned, worried.

"Gaius says that there is nothing he could do short of lying to him, but I don't think Percival would listen."

"His whole family was killed when Morgause marched Cenred's army into Camelot." Lancelot reminded them. "He has his reasons for going, we all do."

Again, Gwen looked away. She wanted to scold him for saying such things, because she knew his intentions were to march as well. Knight or no knight, Lancelot had made an oath, and he would fulfill it. It was the sort of man he was, after all.

"We all do, you're right about that. King Olaf is marching straight from the north through Bayard's lands, so with King Tegan arriving this morning there is no one else to wait for."

His words made then quiet, as Gwen was well aware of the scores of men that were now lined outside Camelot's walls, so many banners, so much steel, it overloaded her senses in a way she wasn't even aware was possible; just the amount of food been eaten by day made her sleepless at night. "And how is Arthur?"

Merlin sighed. "That is what I'm worried about; he goes to every council meeting, talks a little, trains. He is different, I don't know how. I mean, he was different before, but after Agravaine…"

His voice trailed off and Gwen shuddered, remembering Uther's wrath at that discovery.

"Was Arthur angry?"

Merlin seemed surprised at her question, but there was no pause before he answered her. "No, no I don't think so. I think he is just heartbroken."

"Heartbroken."

"Yes" the boy looked down, his blues eyes were strangely forlorn. "First Morgana and then Agravaine. I think he is hurt, not only that, but I think he is afraid to trust people."

"Arthur would never stop trusting people." Gwen proclaimed, speaking on as Lancelot and Merlin turned their confused gazes her way. She understood Arthur well enough to know that. "Like you said, Merlin, Arthur trusted Morgana and Agravaine. I don't think he is afraid to trust you or anyone else, I think he is scared of being wrong. You know Arthur, he was never sure of himself." She saw the way they were both staring and looked away. "That is what I believe."

A thick silence fell over the group and slowly she saw Merlin widening his eyes. "He doesn't believe he can rule."

Lancelot seemed wary. "That is not good and it's even worse now."

"We have to bring his confidence back."

"How can we do that?" Gwen questioned.

Merlin paused and then, slowly, he begun to smile. "I think I might have an idea."

* * *

Gaius had disliked the idea right away. He had paced, and grunted and finally told Merlin in no uncertain terms. "This is a bad idea, Merlin! It is too close to magic!"

"Is it?" He had argued. "I mean, it might just be a legend, an old story! I'll come up with something."

"You will come up something?"

"Yes" Gaius' eyebrow had done that thing where it called him an idiot. "You know that we need Arthur and he lost his confidence. I don't know what else to do." Merlin had continues, desperately. "Also, he is going to need a weapon to fight them."

In the end, his mentor relented.

Now here they were and Merlin found the silence disturbing.

"You're awfully quiet."

They had been trudging through the forest for a long time now, the silence only broken occasionally when he heard Arthur tripping over the uneven path, forcing his glare to burn more and more at the back of his head. Of course, that wasn't surprising and Merlin was actually happy that he got Arthur to follow him to begin with.

"Unlike you, Merlin, I don't have to keep my mouth working constantly."

"Ah, there he is."

"Shut up."

Merlin hid a smile as he moved ahead, ducking under a low branch to follow the trail of wet grounds and mud. "I'm actually surprised you agreed to come." He prodded carefully. "It only took bothering you for an hour."

"I'm actually beginning to regret ever listening to you."

"You never listen to me."

"I assure you, I won't, ever again."

The banter felt good, something of old days, something normal that made him grin like a fool as he guided the prince, who tripped again, screamed his frustration at the ground, and kept following. Merlin himself had to be careful, since breaking an ankle at this point would be stupid. He used a series of spells to make the path more difficult and although he broke most before bringing Arthur here, he might have forgotten a few. "I thought you were a hunter!" He cheerfully added, jumping off a barrier of vines.

"I'm a hunter!" Arthur replied, his eyes darkening for a brief moment. "I just, can't remember this trail for the life of me, where the hell are we going?"

"I told you, it's a surprise!"

"I've had enough surprises for a lifetime, Merlin."

At that the servant stopped. Hearing exactly how deep Arthur's bitterness run in that brief instant where their loneliness allowed him to be himself was a little offputting. It was an old dance where the real Arthur would show his face, full of kindness and careful thought, one that was rare these days. Carefully, he looked back at the prince as he considered his next words.

"What?" Arthur asked, annoyed.

"You know I'm here for you right? You can talk to me."

Arthur stopped. His eyes closed for an instant, his expression turning into a grimaced as if he was in pain, but when he opened his eyes again, they were steel and determined.

"No I can't, Merlin."

"Arthur…" He walked past him, and Merlin felt his voice rising, desperately trying to stop him. "You were betrayed, Arthur!" The shout did it, it stopped the prince dead on his tracks. "It wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it?" Arthur said, his back still turned. "I misjudged everyone, Merlin. Morgana, my uncle, my…" He paused." My father even… My own council turned to him behind my back." Arthur looked over his shoulder, piercing Merlin with a steel gaze. "I was supposed to know what to do, and yet I can't… I can't figure it out."

"You are a great ruler, Arthur."

He scoffed. "I'm good with a sword…"

"You kept this kingdom going through winter with almost no resources, remember?"

"And now we're at war."

"A necessary war!" Merlin choked as the words came out of his mouth, the banter from before, the thrill of his plan, forgotten as he realized what he had said. In an instant the horror crystalized behind his eyes, taking him into a future where warring with his own kind was suddenly justified. He wanted to take it back. He wanted to reach out and pluck the words out of the world to keep them stored deep into the corners of his heart, but he knew no spell or trick for it, instead there was only Arthur's grimace in front of him and a forest where bare branches were reaching out like claws.

"Do you really think so?"

Merlin lowered his voice, Kilghara's warning about Mordred and Morgana ringing inside his head. "Morgana tried to kill everyone already; I know that every sorcerer with a grudge against Camelot will be with her. I'm afraid they won't be merciful to your people."

Those were the words he said to himself every night. Words Gaius had repeated to him once or twice and that assured him of his purpose if he was stand by Arthur's side and protect him. He reminded himself of the woman who put the court to sleep and threw a dagger at Arthur. He remembered Edwin and Cornelius Sigan, Nimueh and Morgause.

"The Disir did something to me when I was with them." Arthur's suddenly said, his words breaking Merlin's thoughts and perking his interest. So far the prince had refused to speak of the Disir. "They put me somewhere called the Edge. It was some realm of their Goddess filled with tears, I don't really understand it but it was some sort of place between the world of the living and the dead." Merlin gasped. "When I was there, I saw something, visions. It almost felt like I was remembering."

"What… What was it?" He prompted when Arthur threatened to stop.

"I saw Camelot burning." Said the prince. "I saw the knights dying, everyone was dying. And my uncle was there with Morgana."

"That is why you suspected him."

"Yes." Arthur's eyes were almost pleading now but his tone was sad. Merlin knew he disaprooved what his father had done. "If he really was a traitor, Merlin, was the whole thing real? If he is dead now, does it mean Camelot is safe? What do you think?"

What could he think? Merlin had heard so much about the future and destiny. He knew he couldn't escape his, and he knew he couldn't change things as much as he wished he could. He also knew that, sometimes, certain detinies needed to be protected.

"I think that we can't escape our destiny." Arthur's shoulders lowered, but Merlin kept going. "And I think that your destiny is to make this kingdom into something great, Arthur."

"Now I'm feeling confident."

"For once in your life, just...listen… would you?" Arthur blinked at him a few times, and Merlin smirked "I think that you can't know if saw something that would happen and thinking about it won't do you any good. I also think that it's your destiny to be the greatest king this kingdom has ever seen. I believe that with all my heart. I know you can't see it now, but I do and I'm going to help you get there and I'm going to prove it to you."

For a long instant, Arthur was still, hope flashing in his gaze. "How?"

"Well, you'll have to follow me." Merlin managed a grin, putting speed on his feet. "Have you ever heard about the Tale of the Sword?"

"What?"

"It's a story that Gaius told me about Bruta, you know who Bruta is, don't you?"

He could feel Arthur's frown at his back, but his eyes were ahead of him, recognizing the path ahead, they were close. "Every child in Camelot knows who Bruta is."

"Yes, well, many years ago, before the birth of the five kingdoms, this land was in an endless cycle of bloodshed and war, but Bruta was determined to end all that. He gathered together the elders of each tribe and drew up plans for the lands to be divided. Each would respect the others' boundaries, and drew it over the land as they saw fit. That is how Bruta became Camelot's first king, ancestor to all that followed, including you, Arthur."

"I know that."

"I bet you don't know that there is another part of the story."

"Oh, do tell" Arthur said, skeptical.

"When Bruta was on his deathbed, he asked to be taken deep into the forest. There, with the last of his strength, he thrust his sword into a rock. If his lineage was ever questioned, this would form a test. Only a true king of Camelot could pull the weapon free."

Behind him, Merlin can hear the moment he stops, but he keeps going. He knows Arthur, he knows he will follow and, sure enough, his curiosity eventually wins.

"Why haven't I ever heard this story?"

"Well, history isn't really your strong point, is it?" Arthur remains silent. "What are you thinking?"

"I think you're trying to fool me."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"More like an idiot."

"What's that then?"

He watches on with a smile, delighted by the prince's stunned silence as his eyes finally find the sight ahead of them. There, amidst the woods, was a stone and, stuck in it, was a sword, gold and steel shining under the sun in a glimmer that could almost be magical. Around the blade though, there were the Knights of the Round Table and Gwen. Sir Leon was the only one in full knight regalia. Percival had bandages wrapped around his head, while Elyan and Gwaine wore normal clothing – only enough to keep the cold at bay. Lancelot rested his right arm on a sling while Gwen kept rubbing her hands together. Those who stood with him once and swore their loyalty were now here again for another decisive moment. When he turns to Arthur again, he half expects to see him annoyed, but instead, Arthur staggered in place, eyes wide.

"Arthur?" Merlin called, snapping his fingers in front of him." Are you there?"

"What?"

"Where did you go?" He smiled, but Arthur just shook his head, looking at the sword now with something almost like fear. The moment he saw it, Merlin almost hesitated, but he had gone too far to turn back now. "Go on"

"What?"

"I'm proving to you that you will be a great king."

Arthur frowned, his lips moving, his whisper so low Merlin almost couldn't hear it. "That sword is stuck fast in solid stone."

"And you're going to pull it out."

"Impossible."

"Arthur, you're the true king of Camelot."

"My father is king of Camelot, and he conquered it." He looked around. "Do you want me to look like a fool?"

"No, I want you to understand that you're worthy of the throne, that you alone can save Camelot and its people. You're destined to be Albion's greatest king."

Arthur was clearly uncomfortable now, hesitating before taking the first step. Although he wasn't there, Merlin can almost feel Gaius' eyes at his back, his mouth pursed in that disapproving look that told him this was a bad idea. When the prince finally reached the sword, he looked over the others.

"Did he tell you that silly story too?"

"What story, sire?" Elyan questioned.

"This Tale of the Sword?" He asked, narrowing his eyes as Merlin felt sweat gathering at his brow.

Sir Leon frowned "No, I've never heard of that."

"Oh, I did!" Gwaine suddenly exclaimed. "You hear it everywhere, sire."

"I remember hearing it as a child" Lancelot added, and Merlin sighed, turning to Arthur.

"See? It's famous, now stop cowering."

"I don't cower, Merlin" Arthur finally wrapped his hands around the handle, grimacing as he pulled it, again and again, until he was trembling from the effort.

"You can do this Arthur. Nothing, not even this stone can stand in your way." The sword refused to move, and now everyone was holding their breaths. "Come one Arthur, have faith."

"Faith?"

"Faith, we have faith in you, why don't you?"

Merlin saw him stopping, running his gaze across the others to each of the men he made a knight and to Gwen whose smile was small and encouraging. This time he didn't pull it immediately. Instead, Merlin saw him closing his eyes, taking deep breaths. He wondered what he was thinking about at that moment, while he basked in the perfection of it. Seeing the opportunity, he allowed his magic free, flying forth to break the connection between rock and steel. Finally, the blade was released, coming off the stone in heating sparks, its blade glimmering like a living flame as a wide eyed Arthur raised to the skies.

In that moment, the clouds that covered the skies parted, and the sun broke through, sparking hope inside his heart. For the world he was still a prince, but Merlin, in his own thoughts, wished him a long life.

_Long live the king._

Walking back to Camelot later felt much easier.

They did so with easy conversation and feather like steps, the men who were wounded were now joking around and chuckling. Ahead of him, even Arthur seemed happy.

"That was truly amazing." Gwen was saying.

"I know, not that it makes any sense." Arthur sad, sending Merlin a look. "I still think it was all rubbish."

"How else can you explain you pulling the sword from the stone, sire?" Gwaine asked.

"Can you, Gwaine?"

"Well, I've seen lots of strange things out in the world, sire, this is just another one." The man claimed and when Arthur's back was turned, he wink at Merlin, who laughed and moved ahead of Arthur.

"You know, there is actually another part of that story."

"Oh, really?"

"Let him tell the story." Gwen said, prompting Arthur to nod.

"When the sword was thrust into the stone, the ancient king foretold that one day it would be freed again at a time when Camelot needed it most." Merlin said, his voice loud enough for all of them to hear it. "The man who freed it would unite the land of Albion and rule over the greatest kingdom the world has ever known. That man is you, Arthur."

He looked on expectantly, but all Arthur did was furrow his brow. "You're making this up."

"Why would I do that?" Merlin said, only to him now. "Your head's already as big as your waist. I believe it, though. And I believe in you. I always have."

Up ahead, the skies had darkened slightly as the day moved along, and Camelot revealed itself before their eyes. Their small party crossed the camps of men in stride, bows and calls of 'sire' following their path as the soldiers took notice of their prince, whose face lost whatever color it had gained a moment ago. Merlin became puzzled at that, but now they were way too exposed for him to talk openly, instead he walked up the roads, confused by the lack of people.

"Where did everyone go?"

"My father was going to address the people today." Arthur reminded him.

Sure enough, as they came upon the plaza they saw it packed with people, many spilling out of the threshold in an attempt to see the king. Under the portal, Merlin couldn't help but move his gaze upwards, where Agravaine's corpse hanged from a noose. When his treason was discovered, Uther hadn't seeing fit to give the man a proper burial; instead he tried to make him an example. Now, Agravaine Du Bois was left to rot above the gates, hands and feet cut off and a sign stuck to his chest. The word 'traitor' carved in the piece of wood.

Without looking, Merlin knew none of his companions looked at it, instead focusing on the thundering voice that spoke above the crowd.

"… Our days have been harsh and cold, and now enemies are gathering beyond these same walls!" The king spoke, dressed from head to toe and crimson cloth and dark leather, it was as if Uther had never fallen sick. His crown was a golden circle over his head and his eyes stared down with pride and defiance as if the threat stood right before his eyes. "The evil of sorcery is strong, it is vile and cunning! It is the same evil that once roamed this land, that once drowned this kingdom in chaos and bloodshed, but fear not! Once, with the help of the people, that same evil was banished from the land! Now, once more they come to us for a fight, to destroy homes and families! I know so, for my own family has been tarnished by these demons!" The crowd seemed to freeze as one being, confirmation of the king's relations to Morgana coming the Uther's own mouth. "But we will prevail! Right now, all five kingdoms have agreed to join arms against this foe! Our armies have gathered! Our arms are strong! Our steel is sharp! Tomorrow we will march into Essetir and purge these lands once and for all! As your king that is my word that evil shall never touch you again!"

Around Merlin, the people cheered. Days of fear and uncertainty flowing out in thunderous screams.


	27. THE BRAVEST AND MOST NOBLE OF THEM ALL

**THE BRAVEST AND MOST NOBLE OF THEM ALL  
**

* * *

He said goodbye from the window of his chambers, forced to stay behind as the army gathered outside the walls of Corbenic.

For Mordred, it wasn't a sight he would soon forget.

Out in the fields men and women were currently getting ready for war, draped in robes and boiled leather, chainmail and armour, they numbered thousands of wielders of steel and magic. To Mordred it felt like every person in the world had come here and yet people would tell him that Uther Pendragon had even more men on his side.

"I can see the druids, right there!"

Kara's hand was pointing to a tall newly made banner fluttering closer to the woods, a blue druid triskelion against a dark blue field. It was there that many of his people sought their place, many and more who trickled from the woods willing to fight. There were more banners of course. In time he had learned many and more sigils that he now saw on the battlefield. There was a Rowan Tree, red and black, and the brendui squares in pure blue. He saw lions, bulls, and wolves of many types, but above all there was a stark white dragon on a field of black.

"We should be there too."

"We're children." Mordred mumbled in response, although his voice lacked conviction. He knew exactly how Kara was feeling and had she said that some weeks ago, he wouldn't hesitate to go with it and follow her out there. Now he knew better, or at least he was trying. "We can't."

"We should."

"We would just get in the way, if we go Pylah and Forridel would be worried about you so they won't fight properly."

"Is that what her majesty told you?"

He looked down, running a finger over the rough stone of windowsill. "She is right, isn't she? We're just kids, you can barely lift a sword and I don't control my magic that well."

Kara huffed. "I can lift a sword! Just yesterday I beat that boy with red hair in seconds! He didn't even have time to react, because I was very fast." She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and pouted to the world outside. "It's easy for you to say, you already got to run away after her."

"I said I was sorry."

"Bullshit!"

"I am" He frowned.

"You left me!" Her eyes darted beyond the ramparts when a horn echoed through the streets of the new town and to the walls of the castle. It came from the head of the column where the white dragon flew over men and women on horses. Like one, they traveled north and them made a sharp turn towards the east, and he knew that in front of those riders was Morgana herself. "Idiot."

"What do I have to do for you to forgive me?" Mordred asked cautiously. "You already beat me in the courtyard…"

"That was fun."

"… And I gave you my pie from yesterday."

"It was a good pie." She recognized, narrowing her eyes. "We can still get there, before the second army leaves, you know."

Now he set his jaw. "I promised Morgana I would listen, and knights don't lie."

A second horn was blown and suddenly the second part of the army, this one with the Rowan Tree ahead of the column, slowly begun to move. This army was mostly made of people on foot and they weren't as quick as the horses, but inevitably, they too begun to disappear. They didn't turn east though. They moved north and always to the north.

"You really want to be a knight now?"

"I do" Mordred answered. "You don't?"

"I just want to fight, I don't care about knights, they just kill people." She had a way of making Mordred suddenly feel ashamed. "You don't like swords. Knights use swords."

"Morgana says that a true knight is not a person who uses a sword, she says I can be a knight who uses magic, or a knight that heals or just a knight that likes farming."

"I still don't like knights." She said, moving away from the window. Mordred watched her climbing on his bed and picking up the spell book that Morgana had given him. She skimmed through the pages quickly, and then smiled at him. "I guess you could be a good one, if you want to."

"I do."

"And knights always keep their word"

"They do."

"All right," Kara said, grinning. "I guess I'll have to stay here then, and I'll have to help you, you know, because you're hopeless, but you have to promise me something first."

"What?" He came to sit by her side catching the moment her eyes turned dead serious, dark blue like a night sky.

"Promise me, as a knight, that you will never leave me again."

Mordred balked. As he said before, he had apologized to her already, many times, but suddenly it came to him that none of those things mattered to Kara. She didn't care about nice things he did, or how sincere he felt. She cared about this.

Feeling hot on his face, Mordred slowly grasped her hand. His were sweaty and shaking a little, but like he saw some people do before, he took a knee in front of her. Her eyes widened in surprise and he chuckled at her for it.

"I promise."

"Like a true knight?" She giggled along with him.

"Like a true knight."

* * *

The drop fell right over the map.

It landed over the sheepskin marks of the perilous lands, following a path that split the map in two with a glimmering scar. Annoyed, the prince looked up. The elm tree didn't offer much shelter at all against the soft drizzle that had followed them into Essetir, in part because spring had just begun and barely any foliage could be seen in those branches. Of course he was aware of it, but after Merlin pointed that out Arthur made his brief mission to prove him wrong, despite the sensation of living inside a castle with thousands of holes on the roof. Running a hand over his blonde locks, the prince shoved the map into his bag and bit down on his lower lip as he watched his men moving along the eastern road, a path of dirty that was slowly turning into mud as the day moved along. Bored, he couldn't help but grab for the sword.

It was a beautiful weapon, really, with gold and solid woodwork, the steel looking bright and new. Nothing about it spoke of years spent stuck into a rock and even now, holding it in his hands delved Arthur into a strange thrumming of feelings that he couldn't quite decipher. What puzzled him further was the inscription though. He was almost sure those runes weren't anything good, they evoked dread within him if only because he seen too much magical stuff using those same letters in the past. It was then that Sir Leon found him, pulling back his hood as he climbed off his horse.

"How is the new sword, sire?"

"Sharp." Arthur answered. "Did you see anything, Sir Leon?"

"My scouts met some riders, at least two miles from here." The knight said, blinking as he attempted to dry his face. "We crossed swords twice, I lost three men. No doubt the enemy knows we're coming."

"Any sigils?"

"Yellow snakes, sire."

"Madoc's men" Arthur concluded after some thought, water dripping around them in a tuneless song. "We heard rumors that he declared himself king of a stretch of land in the north of Essetir. He must be the one watching us."

"Do you think he is going to fight us?"

"If you lost three men, then he already has, also I doubt he will give up his crown that easily." A pause, "names?"

Sir Leon sighed. "Sir Reginald, Sir Thomas and Sir Osian."

"Their fulfilled their duty, their bravery won't be forgotten." Arthur answered, even though only Sir Osian's name could summon face and deeds in his mind – a young man, eager and shy - he had been hunting bandits with Lancelot on those first weeks of winter. Now he was dead and Lancelot was in Camelot, recovering. "I'll let my father know of this, anything else?"

"Nothing, sire, the roads ahead are fine enough, unless the rain gets worse the baggage train will be able to pass. You should have no problem."

"Good, I'll give you more men. I want you to double the patrols, things will get more dangerous now and we can't afford to be blind."

"Sire"

Sir Leon went away just as he saw Merlin coming from the back of the vanguard, climbing down from his horse and running through the mud. He skidded over it and almost fell before finally stopping by Arthur's side. They only just crossed the forest of Essetir to enter the country properly and he wouldn't allow carelessness to be their end. Being put in charge of the vanguard, he would be the first to meet any enemy forces and Arthur made it his job to be ready at any given moment, even if his servant was fond of complaining.

"I heard we have a place to camp for the night, should I go ahead and set up your tent?"

"No, Merlin" Arthur answered. "I told you already, we're the last ones to rest. It's our job to keep guard until the main column arrives and then we set up camp."

"Right, but still, can't I just start now? I always have to run along and fix your things, and then I have to find a place for me to sleep, and then I have to get up early to get it all down and… well, I can see you're getting annoyed, so let's just say it would make things easier later."

Arthur snickered. "If you want easier, you shouldn't be marching to a war."

"Right, remind me again how I volunteered to be here."

"Shut up, Merlin." Arthur leaned back against the bark, pulling the waxed cloak over his shoulders. "How is Gwen?"

"She is fine." His servant said rubbing his arms and hands to get rid of the chill. The rain had clung locks of dark hair to his forehead and he noticed that it gave him an innocent like quality, almost like an overgrown child. Arthur remembered his servant would be coming of age soon. "She is in the main column with Gaius, working with the other healers. Yesterday she had to help with a sprained ankle."

"Is she well?"

"Yeah of course, she is eating too, unlike us." Arthur allowed a small chuckle to escape him, while Merlin turned around to the five thousand men under his command. Horses and foot, they made for a very powerful display of force. "What did Sir Leon say?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

Merlin looked over at him, taking notice of the sword in his hands. "Admiring it?"

"No" Arthur retorted, Merlin gave him a look that reminded him too much of Gaius. "I was wondering about those inscriptions"

"Oh, well." His servant picked up the blade, flipping it over. "Gaius can read it, this side says 'take me up' and this one says 'cast me away'."

Arthur frowned down at the blade. "That makes no sense whatsoever"

"Maybe it's up to you to figure it out"

"Maybe you're making things up again."

Merlin just smiled at him, prompting Arthur to return the sword to his belt. His servant sniffled a bit, looking to the horizon. "Are we following that river, then?"

"Merlin…"

"Yeah?"

"What river do you think that is?"

"I don't know."

Arthur sighed, shaking his head. "That, Merlin, is a branch of the river Trent. The River Trent flows into Mercia and we're going in the opposite direction."

"Right."

"Honestly, I thought you grew up around here." Arthur knew that Ealdor was only a few miles south of their position, a place that he had last been to when times were simpler.

"I never really left Ealdor until I came to Camelot." Merlin confessed, something wistful painting the edges of his voice as he turned his eyes south. "Is the enemy out there?"

The word enemy held so many meanings in that instant that Arthur found the answer a fleeting one. "There is always an enemy out there, Merlin."

It was something that Arthur knew from the moment they had left Camelot behind, their army having been sent off by a sunny day and uncertain faces on the streets. In the first few days it was almost like his father had made the weather itself bow to his will, allowing their lines to move at a steady pace through the dry land, however as soon as they entered the Forest of Essetir, the skies turned grey and their pace slowed down.

At no moment this became more obvious as when Arthur saw the army camping that night. Sir Leon had been right about the road and Arthur managed to bring his vanguard over the hills with easy, setting for a flat patch of land raised above a branch of the River Trent, waiting for the rest to arrive. They marched to his chosen terrain at a lumbering pace, carts skidding to a halt and being pushed along, while men went grumbling and cold to the do the heavy work of digging trenches and setting watches. Arthur helped along where he could, putting his back into the shovel as the night fell and braziers begun to be lit and covered from the rain.

When he finally retreated to his tent - which Merlin had set without problem despite his complaints – he found a meal waiting for him. Somehow Merlin had found him a bowl of pottage with a small piece of hard bred for dinner. It was surprisingly warm too. As he took it in his hands, the prince was suddenly reminded that many wouldn't be having something like this, whether here in their camp or back in Camelot where many families were left without their men in the times of ploughing and sowing the fields. Most of these supplies came from the other kingdoms. He had tried as much as possible to delay the war, warning his father that they needed time to plant the next harvest, that they needed more men and they couldn't spare the border patrols – Odin, Caerlon and Rodor were like wolves sniffing weaknesses - but in the end Uther Pendragon was relentless.

He had always been relentless.

Long ago, Arthur had thought it was a quality.

These days he wondered if he ever had any idea of what that was.

Quietly, he began to eat. As the First Knight he must set an example, and that meant keeping up his strength. When his belly was full and he felt the bed under him, he fell asleep blessedly quickly.

* * *

Next morning found Arthur summoned to his father in the early days of sun. He left Merlin behind to disassemble his tent and walked all the way to the center of the camp where a huge scarlet tent had been set. The rain had stopped in the middle of the night and he could hear men cheering for it as he walked, and the mood made him almost smile as entered to find the war council reunited.

His father was sitting at the head of a large table, flanked by King Alined and King Banna. Lord Trent was pouring himself a cup of wine seeming completely at easy at representing his sick king in their campaign while Lord Cygnus and Lord Hector were both glaring at one another from opposite sides. Arthur bowed to his father and quickly took a seat, noticing the map spread in front of him.

"It's good of you to join us Arthur."

"Father."

"We've received a messenger this morning; he was brought to us with word from King Bayard."

Arthur felt his fingers gripping the table for support. His eyes moved to the map, finding a small tower of wood just a few miles away from their position. Strategy had been discussed at length before they left Camelot, but having a message now made it seem all the more real.

"What news?"

"King Bayard and King Olaf are bringing their army through the north east border of Essetir, they are marching parallel to our position as we speak." Lord Cygnus moved another piece over the map, this one coming from Anglia. "Lot says his family has their own host marching from the east straight towards Cenred's Castle."

"They wish to beat us there." His father grumbled.

"Sire, they are our allies"

"Allies only go so far, Lord Trent." King Alined lazily explained, his smile held a sickening quality to it, like milk with too much honey. "Lot did suffer a great defeat and his family is without a doubt seeking to redeem their honor. I should know of course. There was a sorcerer hiding in my own court as you know, my fool to which I granted his deeds were a result of skill and nothing more. Of course he tricked me, probably with spells. I myself look forward to bringing that vile creature to justice. No my lords, do not overestimated our common goal to go beyond selfish desires."

"There is also Cenred's gold to think about." Lord Hector reminded them. "His vaults must be full."

"Hardly, considering the number of mercenaries he hired against Camelot last autumn."

"Enough!" His father barked. "None of that matters; I won't allow Lot's kin to have any say in this. We came to this country to destroy these sorcerers and rescue the Lady Morgana and that is what we shall be doing."

At the mention of her name the whole council looked uneasy. None of them seemed to have the courage to question Uther about his intentions. Arthur had tried once, and only once before he deemed that a lost battle. It wasn't like he couldn't understand. Morgause was a real threat. She had tried to destroy Camelot one too many times and as long as she was out there with allies Arthur couldn't see a day where Camelot was truly safe. It was easier than thinking about Morgana in the temples of her Goddess.

"Sire, the lady…"

"…Is under a spell!" His father exclaimed, piercing King Banna with his eyes and startling Arthur out of his thoughts. "She was taken from me by that whore, Morgause! She is the witch behind our woes and she will be the one to pay, her and all of her people. That is why I called for you."

"Father?"

Arthur felt himself shrinking under that hard as steel gaze. The crown sat comfortably atop of Uther Pendragon's head, casting shadows that covered everything but those pools of ice cold determination. "For a long time, this place has served as shelter for those monsters, now is the time to put an end to it. There is only one punishment for the crimes of sorcery and of aiding those who commit it. Now that we crossed their borders, I want you to send out foraging parties. Their orders are to kill anyone suspect of sorcery. I want the villages harboring sorcerers put to the torch and anyone helping them dead. Do you understand?"

Arthur felt sweat tricking behind his back. "Father, if we do this, we risk turning the people against us."

"They were against us the moment they accept sorcerers in their lands." Lord Hector smirked. "If you allow me, my king, I can arrange the parties."

"No, Arthur shall do it." He felt his father's eyes lingering on him, and then. "You shall help him, Lord Hector. I want this country to remember the price of allying themselves with demons."

"It will be done, sire."

Arthur closed his eyes, knowing that Lord Hector had gotten to his feet. He tried to gather his courage. He tried to remember how he felt when he pulled the sword from the stone, the feeling that he was holding fire itself in his hands.

"Father, King Madoc is out there, we should keep our men close and try to end him before we…"

"We shall see to this king in due time." Uther sneered, showing what he thought of the man. "His seat is right on our way, it will burn as well."

"I don't think…"

"Remember your oaths as the First Knight of Camelot, Arthur! You are to obey your king. You know the meaning of war as well as any man, I taught it to you! The war against magic will only be one when we remind them how to fear us! How to fear our justice! " The raising of his voice made Arthur struggle not to flinch, as always he half expected something painful to happen, but his father simply looked away. "You're dismissed."

Arthur closed his hands around his sword, the next word falling from his lips like a bush of thorns. "Sire."

* * *

The riders came with fire and steel.

He stood there, pralyzed under their sight, grey men on beasts of shadow. He wasn't breathing, his chest was tightely twisted around itself, while pale smoke could be seem leaving their faces. Each time the smoke appeared, hooves would make the ground tremble, and the boy shook in the most overpowering fear. The devil had taken possession of his body, keeping him still for the slaughter. Just as something was about to happen, the riders raced past him, swift as the wind. Smoke danced in front of his eyes, the stink of blood and shit mixing into an pungent smell as the world twisted around him to show homes buried in fire.

HIs voice called out for someone, anyone, but the flames were the only things moving.

Then something cold grabbed at his ankle and when he looked down the empty eyed skull was smiling up at him.

Lancelot startled awake.

His hands moved over the grass, feelling the morning dew wetting his skin. Around him he felt the riders moving about, Sir Brennis shouting at them to get moving, the same shouts that woke him up, and he almost glad for it. Getting to his feet, he looked around. They had been camping briefly for the night, a brief rest as they cut through Essetir in a path to meet and destroy the king's enemies. They were fifty riders in total and Lancelot knew there were more parties like these foraging the country inside and beyond Sir Leon's screen of scouts.

Privately, Lancelot found himself with a bitter taste in his mouth at the simple idea of it. Riding around after food and fodder for an army with limited supplies was one thing, but the truth of it was that they were stealing and worse, hunting. As he tied his sword at his waist, moving his shoulder in apainful stiff circle, the young man was codly glad they hadn't meet any villages with people. Everywhere they went, the homes were bare and abandoned, the whole of Essetir feeling like a ghost country.

"You think we're gonna find any witches?" The men would grumble at night as they chewed on pieces of jerky.

"You don't want to find witches boy, they would melt the eyes from your skull if they could."

"I thought we came here to kill sorcerers!"

"Yes, to kill the demons."

"Still, you don't want a witch, they are devil's whores. They could kill you with a look. No, you have to go after the young ones."

"There are childre sorcerers?"

"Their parents givem them to fairies in exchange of power, then they come back all wrong. Never trust a child sorcerer."

"You burn them."

"The king will get rids of them, you'll see."

Lancelot would always grit his teeth, look down and try his best not to think of Merlin or regret the fact that he was among those men. Each time his shoulder would bother him, he would be back in Camelot, grimacing in pain as Gaius tried to help him move his arm. Up and down, back and forth. The phycisians's eyes growing horrible grave each time. When Gaius finally took a final look at his wound and proclaimed his diagnosis, Lancelot felt as if the ground would swallow him whole. He had gone so cold that, for a moment, he couldn't even hear the physician's sentence.

"The wound is not healed enough for you to go gallivanting out there, I'm afraid." Gaius told him in front of Arthur and Gwen. "Even if it was, you have lost important parts of your body, tendons and muscle, your arm will never move like it used to."

Of course he had been aware of that. He had been aware that his injure was serious the moment Morgana hit him with that spell and yet, through every attempt to hold a cup or raise his arm above his head, he had lied to himself in fear of the painful truth. It turns out that reality wasn't easily denied and Arthur had quickly ordered him to stay in Camelot with the garrison.

"We're leaving enough men to defend our borders from attack. Caerleon and Rodor would be eager to lay claim to our lands, not to mention Odin and his revenge against me." Arthur said in a clipped voice. "I'm actually scared you will have to fight anyway."

Of course desperation had struck him.

His prince, Merlin, Gwen and the other friends he made were all marching to war, to put their lives on the line and he was left to watch, much like he watched his village been destroyed in that summer long ago. They were about to walk into unknown danger, to battle people who could raise the dead and he was stuck in bed, doomed to wait on their word or silence. Hell, Lancelot was sure that if something happened to a servant he would know about it only upon the army's return, if it reutrned at all. In the end, he had climbed off his bed and woke up Merlin in the middle of the night, doing something he promised himself he never would.

"Can you help me?" He asked trying his best to be calm and not act like a man starving in front of a feast. He asked, despite already knowing the answer.

"Lancelot, I can't, if someone found out…"

"I know." He interrupted, understanding far too well, but Merlin ignored him.

"If someone were to find out, I wouldn't be the only one in danger. Hell, you could be in danger!" He stopped short, dark locks falling over his eyes as he turned around and paced the room. "People saw the state you came in, tired, arm hanging limp on your side. If anyone even suspects you were healed with magic you would be executed."

"I would die before I gave you away."

"That is exactly the problem," Merlin pointed out in a harsh whisper. "Camelot is scared, Lancelot! Just yesterday there were ten people thrown in the dungeons, suspects of sorcery! They would be dead if Arthur wasn't there! Everyone is looking at their own shadows these days."

Reason crawled up his skin with each word out of Merlin's mouth, the insane selfishness of his actions becoming clear even in that dark room, in the physician's tower.

"Are you really that desperate to go?"

"Wouldn't you be?" Lancelot gently threw the question back. "Merlin, from the first time I knew you, you've been looking over Arthur. I don't think you need to hear my answer for this."

"Right, of course, but that is just the thing. You know I won't let anything happen to them, don't you?"

"I know that." Lancelot answered. "Aren't you scared?"

"I don't know, I've had to fight other sorcerers before, but never in a war."

"Don't you feel bad, fighting your own people?"

"I don't know," Merlin mumbled. "We don't have a choice, do we? Morgana was trying so hard to kill Arthur before, and Morgause, she did everything to take Camelot. I know they haven't given up."

"You think it's your duty?

"To Arthur" Merlin said quickly. "Not Uther."

"To Arthur." He smiled. Once, Lancelot had thought those eyes were the pinnacle of innocence, but that idea vanished the moment Merlin helped him forge an identity of noble birth. Right then, he saw that same cunning gaze tamed by wisdom as he gazed through his motives. Caught in those eyes, Lancelot immediately tried to escape it and, finally, let his story roll off of his tongue. "I feel the same way, Merlin. I've had to watch those dear to me die once."

The warlock blinked, he expression falling, "your village."

"The bandits came at night, you know. There was no warning, there is never a warning. One instant you're lying on your bed wondering about tomorrow and the next your parents are waking you up and there is a lot of screaming and you can't understand what they are saying." He stopped, the memories threatening his mind and his heart in a sudden strike of emotion. Shame most of all, so powerful he wasn't sure he wanted to keep talking. When he tried to fist his hands, his injured side simply shook as if pieces that should be there to help were absent. "My parents had a small flock of sheep, it wasn't much, but it got us through tough times. They had a small shed where they threw over the manure to sell later on. It's funny how much valuable dung can be."

"I'm aware." Merlin laughed and somehow, Lancelot felt something easing inside him.

"Anyway, that was… That was where they threw me, when they saw there was no escape, right into the pile of dung. The bandits came from all sides, they surrounded us and started killing people. Some tried to flee and were cut down or run over, others they took away alive, I could hear them screaming as they were dragged. I stayed there for hours, and when I came out there was no one left." He fell silent, not able to put into words how he later found his parents butchered on the street. He didn't want to think about his father's severed head or how his mother's dress was torn apart. He didn't want to think about any of it, and suddenly, he was turning away, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling only so he could make it stop. "I thought the smell would never leave."

"I'm so sorry." There was something broken in Merlin's voice, and Lancelot could only shrug at the useless apology.

"You shouldn't be, it wasn't your fault." He said, hoarsely. Many days later he found one of the bandits in a tavern, but that wasn't a story Lancelot was ready to tell. He let the cold settle and waited.

Moments later Merlin went after his spellbook. It took hours of words he couldn't understand and that familiar burning power running through his wound before the warlock had stopped, claiming it was the best he could do. It wasn't perfect. His swordhand felt stiff and he couldn't raised his arm too much, but it was enough for him to fight.

When the army left Camelot, Lancelot had taken his weapons, his horse – a gift from Arthur for his knighthood – and joined the men at arms in the vanguard, trying his best to keep away from familiar faces and having always a hood or scarf at hand. He never wanted to be part of a war, but he wanted to see his friends safe. He thought he had been doing a good job at it, until Sir Brennis somehow saw him among the crowd and picked him for his foraging party.

The man was clearly delighted to have found him, using Lancelot almost as a personal servant as days went by. He was sent to fetch firewood, to water the horses, to clean the knight's crossbow, each task following the other in an way that was almost overwhleming. That delight had vanished as they came by another village that morning. Again it was completely abandoned and Sir Brennis ordered a search even as he stayed in the middle of the single street, whispering a string of curses under his breath.

Lancelot walked around idly, taking notie of how similar the place was to almost any other village in Albion. There was a house that clearly belonged to some old healer, with shelves piled with herbs and weird mixes he couldn't even guess the use. He run his fingers over old tables carved f oak by hands that would probably work the land on the afternoon. Beds that might've been for men, women, couples or children were left unattended, empty cradles marked by the weight of a body long gone. His feet stepped on something breakable and he bent down picking up a scarf drenched in the mud making it impossible to guess its colour. If that was the best they could find, maybe they could go back.

The idea pleased his heart greatly and Lancelot was just thinking about how to suggest that to their leader when a young rider came running through the street.

"I found them! I found them! Sire! I found them!" He screamed, his voice breaking at the edge as he pulled at his reins. "I found them, sire, the villagers, there are a bunch of them fleeing south."

"What?" It only took a moment for Sir Brennis to understand. "Where?"

"Two miles north from here, they are running to the river sire."

Sir Brennis laughed. "It seems their legs failed them. Men! Get the horses!"

As one, he saw the rest of the riders following the command, retrieving their mounts in hurried disarray. Desperate to keep up, Lancelot climbed on his destrier and guided the mount to follow.

When they finally found the villagers, Sir Brennis had guided them at such pace that the horses were rearing back, huffing and puffing in the chilly afternoon. Down from the hill the villagers clearly saw them as well. They were two dozen perhaps, weighted down by heavy bags and ox pulled carts. Some tried to keep everything, but other would drop the stuff behind to pick up children or to drag the old in their despair. Beyond the valley, Lancelot could see a small river a few miles away, too distant to do any good. They could never outrun the horses.

"Try to capture some prisoners!" Sir Brennis screamed from where he was, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "I'm sure we can discover where the rest went. Kill the rest."

"Sire!" It took a moment for Lancelot to realize it was his voice that shouted out, attracting a glare from the knight. He swallowed trying to curb the dryness of his throat, thinking through his next words carefully. This was the same man who demanded him be punished for trying to better the training of recruits. "Sire! Prince Arthur told us we should only draw swords when threatened."

"Prince Arthur is too naïve to understand what is necessary." Sir Brennis answered, and Lancelot got the impression he was talking to the other men as well as him. A smirked slowly appeared on his handsome face that was way too sweet, like milk with too much honey. "I understand you resent the king's wise decision to take your title, peasant, but the king understands what is needed to keep order."

"Sire, we don't even know if those people have magic!"

"They tolerate it!" The knight explained. "Such tolerance has allowed this enemy to rise, Lancelot! Now is the time to extinguish it."

"Sire, please, this isn't right!"

"This is war, boy!" Sir Brennis sneered. "If you don't have the stomach for it, then turn back and find a nursemaid to care for you!" Laughs erupted amongst the men. "Swords!"

When forty eight swords sung out of the sheaths Lancelot knew he had lost. When the forty nine men begun the race down the hill, he followed them numbly, half wishing his arm would fall so he didn't have to take part in what was about to happen. Fifity riders thundering over the land made for a terrifying sight even if you were part of it. They were a mass of steel and the promise of death, unstopabble and loud.

In his mind he was a lad, hearing the screams of his village around him.

They would fall first over the stragglers, some would try to use their swords, but at that speed Lancelot knew the horses would run them over just as easily. Hooves would crush bone and fresh under the weight of the horses making death instant.

In his present, he was a man, riding down to cause more screams just like that.

Some would rider ahead of the formation though, closing the fastest villagers in a pincer, closing a wall of beasts and steel that would trap all of them into a killer box, and then they could have their pick. Kill that, keep that. They weren't people. They were things, preys and targets.

In his memories he was a hero, now he stood beside the monsters

As they raced down to meet the foe, Lancelot felt his teeth sinking into his lower lip. Riders thundered down, swords in hand, red flowing in small garbs of cloth. Ahead of them all Sir Brennis pointed his sword ahead, arm stiff like a spear and Lancelot understood the way to go. He had only one chance. Shouting, he dug his heels repeatedly on his horses flanks. The destrier was fast and soon enough the insane pace brought him to Sir Brennis' side. One chance. Lancelot sent a silent apology. He wasn't sure to who or what he was apologizing to, but he felt the need to do so anyway as he climbed to his feet on the saddle and jumped straight into Sir Brennis.

He had time to glimpse a moment of surprise on the knight's face before the collision brought them down onto the ground. Air was squeezed out of his lungs as he rolled over the grass and mud, the world twisting around until the skies came back to focus and instincts forced Lancelot back to his feet.

In front of him he saw Sir Brennis doing the same, his polished chainmail now covered in filthy as he bellowed a string of curses. The other riders, surprised by the action, had stopped their charge just as Lancelot intended, their curiosity and shock bringing them closer.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Sir Brennis finally screamed at him, from the corner of his eyes Lancelot saw the villagers had not paused in their flight.

"Sire, please, those people did nothing, we don't need to kill them."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"We can just take their food and go."

"You are serious!" Sir Brennis called in disbelief, breaking into laughter. "This is treason!"

"Sire, someone once told that Camelot had most noble army the world has ever seen." Lancelot gulped. "There is nothing noble in slaughering unarmed people."

The air smelled of sweat and horses. wet mud was seeping under his clothe, chilling his skin. The wind buzzed past his ear, a soft hustling whisper drowning his voice. Sir Brennis closed his eyes, showing a line of perfect white teeth when he grinned. "Do you hear that, men? This is the weakness that has allowed sorcery to plunge its roots into this country. Lancelot here does not understand the work we're doing here, the work our king has come to do!" He spat on the ground, walking to his sword and picking it up. "I knew the Prince was out of his mind making you a knight. This is the proof. Your vagabond's blood is finally speaking out."

Lancelot looked over the rest of the men, hoping for a sign of sympathy. He met only blank faces. When Sir Brennis shouted at them to take his life, Lancelot finally drew his sword, ready to face his fate.

"Repeat after me..." He heard Arthur saying, in a dimly lit chamber by the side of a round table. "I herebye swear my hand to the sword, that it may strike true..."

The first rider came at him still atop of his horse, his sword coming down with his whole force and weight behind it. Lancelot stepped aside, retreating both from the sword and the warhorse's teeth.

"... I swear my heart to honour in all things..."

Behind the rider there were men dismounting, and he screamed at them to stop, but just as soon he was parrying a slash on his side, twisting his wrist to threaten his oponnent's eyes. He stepped back and the second man came at him. "Traitor!" He screamed, bringing his sword in a downwards cut. Lancelot made to parry, forgetting his wound. His arm raised only half of his intended move, forcing him to push forward against the sword instead of away, surprising his attacker and alowing him feet to swipe at his legs.

"... I swear my spirit to justice, that it may always know the right path..."

He applied his training for fight against overwhelming odd; keeping them in each other's way and never stop moving. He punched a young soldier in the face, slashed against the belly of another and screamed when sharp steel run through the side of his face. His feet squelched the mud and he kicked at his foes, seeing them wince when it at their eyes. Lancelot charged.

"... I swear my word to the truth, that it may never be tarnished by lies..."

Pan flared from his chest so suddenly he staggered back, not understanding what happened. Lancelot's knees met the cold ground, forcing him to rest his weight on his sword. His eyes looked ahead to see Sir Brennis shouldering the crossbow he had polished that same morning, he followed the knight's smile down to the boldt sunk on his chest. Around him, his oponnents were watching, panting and uncertain. Lancelot wheezed, hoping they would stay there. He was aware that the other riders were still watching and he hoped they would stay there too. He hoped that was little time he bought those villagers was enough.

"...I swear my strenght to the weak, that it may raise and defend them..."

With one last burst of effort, he tried to get back up, but Sir Brennis stomped up to him, his foot hitting his face and snapping his head back. He fell, stars filled his vision and slowly vanished, giving place to a grey afternoon sky. He could taste blood, but his body felt num, which wasn't all that bad. When the cold shadow of Sir Brennis fell over him Lancelot sent Merlin a simple and humble apology, because he wouldn't be by his side to help him protect the future king. His vision darkened, Sir Brennis shadow jerked as if pulled by the strings of a puppeter and he thought about Gwen one last time.

"...I swear my courage against evil, that it may never thrive under my watch."

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